•i 


flCSB  LIBRARY 


"JW 


11 

ILL, 


OTHER    STORIES. 


NEW-YOEK  : 
P.  S.  WYNKOOP   &    SON,  108    FULTON   STREET. 

1868. 


>,  according  to  Act  of  Congre**,  In  the  year  1888,  by 
P.    WYNKOOP   &   BON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New-York. 


JOICV  A.  GRAY  ft  ORKKX, 
PBIICTIBI  <»D    8ri.iotrr.rn 
II  u4  II  JMX*  Slmt,  N«w-Y«rk. 


LONTENTS. 


PAGE 

By  and  By, 9 

Wishing  and  Doing, 18 

Two  Days, 24 

What  Makes  a  Gentleman  ? 31 

An  Evening  Talk, 37 

The  Girl  who  could  not  be  Trusted, 47 

A  Word  Left  Out,          .        s 55 

A  Discovery, 61 

Uncle  Dennis  and  the  Boys, 68 

The  Wrong  Way, 75 

Whom  to  Believe, 82 

The  Darkness  and  the  Light, 88 

Oito  and  his  Tree, .        .95 

Erne's  Lesson, 101 

Who  shall  be  Greatest, 109 

Carrie's  Idol, 116 

Freddie's  Triumph, 125 

School  on  a  Holiday, 133 

Changing  his  Mind,      .........  138 

Nellie  Septon's  Obedience,         .  i 146 

"  I  Will,"       .        . 155 

Nellie  Raymond's  Work, 163 

What  Made  the  Difference  ? 170 

A  Story  with  a  Meaning, 178 

A  Conflict  and  a  Victory,       .        .        .        .        .        .        .186 


S 


HE  winter  was  over  and  gone,  the  time  of 
the  singing  of  birds  had  come,  and  the 
earth  was  clad  in  the  fresh  beauty  of 
spring-time.  The  people  who  had  been  shut  up  in 
the  city  while  the  grass  had  been  springing  up,  and 
the  trees  budding,  and  the  blossoms  blowing,  began 
to  long  for  a  breath  of  pure  country  air,  and  for  a 
sight  of  the  green  fields  once  more.  So  it  came  to 
pass  that  the  teachers  of  a  certain  Sunday-school  in 
the  town  of  M resolved  upon  giving  their  schol- 
ars and  themselves  a  treat  in  the  shape  of  a  ride 
out  of  sight  of  brick  walls  and  dusty  streets  to  the 
shore  of  a  lake  not  many  miles  away.  The  hours 
that  must  pass  before  the  coming  of  the  appointed 


B7  AND   BY. 

day  seemed  very  long  to  the  many  eager,  waiting 
children,  who  were  by  turns  watching  the  clouds 
and  winds  without,  and  the  preparation  of  cakes  and 
white  dresses  within.  But  the  eventful  morning 
dawned  at  last  No  one  was  behind  time  on  the 
occasion,  no  one  looked  ill-natured,  no  one  found 
fault ;  happiness  was  the  order  of  the  day. 

It  was  a  merry  company  that  set  out  for  the  lake, 
and  in  all  the  crowd  none  were  merrier  than  Maggie 
Meade  and  her  brother  Freddie.  To  them,  as  to  all 
the  rest,  the  ride  seemed  only  too  short,  the  lake 
with  its  rippling  waves  enchanting,  the  grove 
by  a  paradise  of  beauty,  the  hours  too  swift  in  their 
rapid  flight.  But,  as  the  proverb  goes,  "  Time  and 
tide  wait  for  no  man ;"  and  while  mirth  and  glad- 
ness were  still  at  their  height,  the  shadows  began  to 
lengthen  on  the  grass,  and  the  older  people  do- 
that  it  would  be  best  to  return  home.  So  the  signal 
was  given,  and  from  all  parts  of  the  grove  the  chil- 
dren hurried  to  obey  it. 

"Come,  Maggie,"  called  her  teacher,  as  she  started 
with  the  rest  of  the  clas.<,  and  left  Maggie  still  gath- 
ering wild  flowers  and  answering : 
Tea,  ma'am — in  a  miqutc." 


BY  AND   BY.  11 

"  Come,  sister,"  pleaded  Freddie ;  "  they  will  all 
go  and  leave  us." 

"  Oh !  no,  they  won't,"  was  the  reply,  "  there's  no 
particular  hurry.  I'll  go  by  and  by." 

So  Freddie  stood  and  patiently  waited  for  one 
minute,  two,  three,  four,  ten,  twenty,  thirty  minutes, 
not  knowing  that  while  he  waited  the  heavily-laden 
stages  were  already  "homeward  bound,"  and  not 
one  of  all  his  friends  had  missed  either  himself  or 
his  sister.  But  at  length  he  appeared  to  have 
reached  the  conclusion  that  forbearance  had  ceased 
to  be  a  virtue,  although  he  only  said  quietly : 

"  Maggie,  don't  you  know  what  was  in  the  hymn 
we  learned  last  Sabbath  ? 

'  The  clock  is  ticking,  ticking, 
Ticking  the  moments  away. 
The  minutes  make  up  the  hours, 
And  the  hours  make  up  the  day.' " 

This  address  aroused  Maggie  at  last. 

"  Why,  Freddie,  where  are  they  all  gone  ?  Come 
quick,  let's  hurry." 

But  there  was  no  need  of  hurrying  then ;  the  time 
for  that  had  passed.  Scholars  and  teachers  had 


12  /;y  A XI)    BY. 

alike  :   the  hum  of  merry  voices 

had  ceased ;  all  around  was  quiet,  save  the  t\\ 
of  the  birds  as  they  sought  their  leafy  homes,  and 
the  unbroken  murmur  of  the  waves  that  washed  the 
shore. 

"  Maggie,"  said  Freddie  solemnly,  "  we  shall  just 
have  to  lie  down  and  die,  and  let  the  robins  cover 
us  with  leaves." 

"  Oh !  no,  we  shall  not  do  any  such  thing,"  Mag- 
gie replied ;  "  you  know  we  could  live  on  acorns 
rather  than  do  that ;  there  are  plenty  of  them  here. 
Besides,  I  found  a  wild  strawberry  to-day ;  may  be 
there  are  more." 

So  Freddie  was  comforted ;  and  soon,  after  a  little 
coaxing  from  his  sister,  lay  down  to  sleep.  As  for 
Maggie,  she  strained  her  eyes  for  hours  watching  for 
some  late  traveler  who  might  be  going  in  the  direc- 
tion of  her  own  home.  But  all  her  watching  was 
in  vain,  and  at  last  she,  too,  yielded  to  the  power 
of  slumber.  When  she  awoke,  the  moon  was  shin- 
ing brightly  in  the  west,  and  her  father  was  calling, 
from  no  great  distance,  "Children,  children,  where 
are  you?" 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  glad  meeting  that  fol- 


BY  AND   BY.  13 

lowed,  and  the  happiness  of  the  mother  when,  a 
couple  of  hours  afterward,  she  welcomed  her  lost 
ones  at  home.  Yet  she  could  not  help  looking 
grave  when  Maggie  confessed  that  her  own  disobe- 
dience had  been  the  cause  of  the  sorrow  which  had 
been  brought  upon  her  parents  and  herself.  "Al- 
though," thought  Mrs.  Meade,  "I  do  hope  this  will 
prove  a  lesson  to  Maggie,  and  that  she  will  learn 
from  it  to  overcome  her  habit  of  putting  off  every 
thing  that  she  has  to  do  until  '  by  and  by.'  " 

But  do  you  know  what  the  word  "habit"  means? 
It  signifies,  in  the  French  language,  something  that 
we  wear,  as  a  dress  or  a  coat ;  and  so  it  conies  to 
mean,  in  our  tongue,  something  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  do,  something  which  we  do  so  often  that 
we  make  a  continual  practice  of  it,  and  keep  it  al- 
ways with  us,  as  we  do  the  clothing  on  our  bodies. 
Well,  this  habit  of  Maggie's — the  habit  of  procrasti- 
nation, of  putting  off — of  saying,  whenever  she  had 
any  thing  to  do,  "I  will  wait  a  little  while,"  or,  "I 
will  do  it  pretty  soon  " — fitted  very  tightly  indeed, 
so  tightly  that  it  seemed  almost  impossible  for  her 
to  take  it  off.  Her  mother  had  talked  to  her  about 
it  until  she  had  grown  weary  of  doing  so ;  her 


14  BY  AXD   BY. 

teachers  had  coaxed,  and  threatened,  and  \varned ; 
her  father  had  promised  her  beautiful  gifts  if  she 
would  only  learn  to  be  prompt,  to  do  every  thing  at 
the  right  time  and  in  the  right  place ;  but  all  in 
.     Now,  when  at  last  she  had  been  brought  to 
see  for  herself  the  error  of  her  way,  she  really  re- 
solved upon  doing  better ;  but  alas !  her  resolution, 
because  made  in  her  own  strength,   was  broken 
again  and  again,  until,  finally,  t\vo  years  after  the 
time  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  her  punish- 
ment  came  in  a  way  which  she  little   expt 
but  never  afterward  forgot    The  last  day  of  the 
term  had    come.      The   pupils  of   Miss   Lin 
school,  the  one  which  Maggie  attended,  had  t. 
a  final  review  of  the  studies  of  the  year,  had  \>\ 
their  farewell  game  of  "hide-and-seek,"  and 
gathered  in  holiday  attire  to  exhibit  to  their  parents 
and  friends  the  progress  which  had  been  made  dur- 
ing the  last  twelve  months,  as  well  as  to  receive  in 
their  presence  the  various  premiums  for  scholarship 
and  good  behavior.     One  after  another  stepped  up 
to  the  principal's  desk  and  had  conferred  upon  • 
the  prize  for  this  or  that  merit  or  virtue,  until  Mary 
Greenwell  triumphantly  bore  to  her  seat  a  reward 


BY  AND  BY.  15 

for  promptness,  and  her  companions  began  to  whis- 
per among  themselves,  "That  is  all,"  and  the  fa- 
vored ones  looked,  if  possible,  more  delighted,  and 
the  disappointed  ones  more  sad,  at  the  thought  that 
now  the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  year  were  realized, 
and  the  crisis  was  passed  at  length.  But  they  were 
all  mistaken.  Suddenly  Miss  Linden  arose,  and 
said:  "There  still  remains  one  reward  to  be  given. 
The  prize  for  tardiness  will  now  be  conferred  upon 
Miss  Maggie  Meade,  she  having  succeeded  in  being 
late  at  school  nearly  every  day  this  year."  What  a 
tittering  there  was  among  the  other  scholars!  and 
how  all  the  mammas  but  poor  Mrs.  Meade  opened 
their  eyes  and  smiled,  and  nodded,  and  whispered, 
"Did  you  ever!"  "Poor  child!"  etc.,  etc.,  as  Mag- 
gie, blushing  and  hesitating,  stepped  up  to  the  desk 
and  received — what  do  you  think  ?  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper  containing  just  four  lines  of  writing.  Would 
you  like  to  know  what  were  the  words  written 
upon  it  ?  They  were  these : 

"  Whene'er  a  duty  waits  for  thee, 

With  a  cheerful  courage  view  it  ; 
Nor  idly  stand  and  wish  it  done, 
But  go  at  once  and  do  it." 


16  BY  AND   /?}'. 

Of  course,  Maggie  was  greatly  mortified.  The 
disgrace  of  being  thus  publicly  reproved  seemed 
almost  cruel  But  when,  weeping  and  ashamed,  she 
had,  in  the  solitude  of  her  own  home,  poured  out  all 
her  grief  into  the  sympathizing  ear  of  her  mother, 
the  only  reply  she  received  was  this : 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  very  sorry ;  but  you  have 
brought  it  all  upon  yourself  Only  remember  how 
many  times  you  have  been  reasoned  with,  and  en- 
treated, and  have  promised  to  do  better,  but  still  re- 
mained careless  and  forgetful,  and  I  think  you  will 
confess  how  much  you  needed  this  rebuke.  I  hope, 
indeed,  it  will  be  the  last  of  the  kind  that  you  will 
ever  require.  Will  you  not  now — not  to-night  or 
to-morrow,  nor  the  next  day — but  now,  begin  to 
perform  all  your  duties  at  the  proper  time  for  them, 
and  cease  entirely  this  habit  of  waiting  until  by  and 
by  ?  Think  how  dangerous  it  is ;  for,  if  you  keep 
on  putting  off  every  day  the  little  things  which  you 
have  to  do,  I  very  much  fear  that  you  will  neglect 
the  great  duty  of  life — that  of  preparing  to  meet 
your  God.  The  day  of  death  may  be  near;  we 
know  not  how  soon  it  will  come  ;  and  if  it  should 
find  you  unprepared,  it  may  then  be  too  late  to  gain 


BY  AND   BY. 


IT 


an  entrance  into  heaven.  Like  the  foolish  virgins 
in  the  parable,  you  may  find  that  the  door  is  shut. 
'  Seek  the  Lord  while  he  may  be  found ;  call  upon 
him  while  he  is  near.  Now  is  the  accepted  time ; 
is  the  day  of  salvation.'  " 


&*\ 


IL 


and  going. 


ARRIE  GREY  and  Jennie  Melville  had 
been  friends  as  long  as  they  could  remem- 
ber. Their  fathers'  homes  were  near  each 
other,  and  there  were  no  other  neighbors  within  half 
a  mile ;  so  it  was  not  strange  that  the  little  girls  had 
been  thrown  very  much  into  one  another's  society. 

As  soon  as  they  were  old  enough,  they  had  begun 
to  attend  the  district  school.  It  was  such  an  one  as 
nearly  every  country  hamlet  in  our  land  possesses, 
and  the  long  walks  to  and  fro  were  always  taken  in 
company.  Sometimes  they  were  attended  for  a  part 
of  the  distance  by  one  or  another  of  their  school- 
mates, and  sometimes  they  chatted  and  laughed  all 
the  way,  hearing  no  one's  voice  but  their  own. 


WISHING   AND   DOING.  19 

However,  on  a  certain  day,  about  the  middle  of 
the  winter  in  which,  they  were  both  ten  years  old, 
they  were  joined  on  their  return  home  by  Anna 
Morris,  who  happened  to  be  going  in  the  same  di- 
rection in  order  to  visit  a  friend.  At  first,  the  talk 
of  the  three  girls  was  about  their  studies,  which  they 
liked  or  disliked,  and  how  far  they  would  be  able  to 
advance  before  the  close  of  the  term.  But  before 
long,  leaving  the  subject  of  study,  they  began  to 
make  various  remarks  concerning  their  companions, 
discussing  this  one's  dress,  and  the  other's  character, 
and  another's  standing  in  her  class. 

At  length  Jennie  said :  "I  wonder  what  has  be- 
come of  Hattie  Murphy  ?  She  hasn't  been  to  school 
for  a  month.  I  do  not  believe  I  have  even  seen  her 
since  the  cold  weather  commenced." 

"  Well,  I  can  put  an  end  to  your  wondering,"  re- 
plied Anna  Morris;  "for  ma  was  down  to  Mrs. 
Murphy's  last  evening,  to  see  about  having  some 
sewing  done,  and  Mrs.  Murphy  told  her  that  she  had 
not  been  able  to  send  Hattie  to  school  this  winter  on 
account  of  having  no  cloak  thick  enough  for  her  to 
wear.  Pa  says  poor  people  are  so  apt  to  be  deceit- 
ful. Of  course,  we  don't  know,  and  it  isn't  right  to 


20  WISHING  AND  D01 

judge;  but  I'll  have  to  say  'good-by' — this  is  my 
road." 

So  saying,  Anna  turned  off  in  another  direction, 
leaving  the  two  friends  to  pursue  their  way  alone. 
Carrie  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Jennie,"  said  she,  "I  don't  believe  Mrs.  Murphy 
would  tell  a  story ;  do  you  ?" 

"  Oh !  no,  indeed.  My  mother  says  she  has  known 
her  for  twenty  years,  and  she  would  trust  her  with 
any  thing — why,  she  is  as  honest  as  the  day  is  long ! 
So,  it  must  be  that  ITattie  has  no  cloak.  Dear  me, 
how  sorry  I  am  for  her!  I  wish  she  had  twenty. 
But,  then,  I  can  not  buy  her  any,  and  my  mother 
says  she  has  enough  to  do  to  see  that  we  have  every 
thing  that  we  want,  without  troubling  herself  about 
other  folks'  children.  Poor  Hattie !  I  wish  she  could 
come  to  school." 

Of  course,  Jennie  imagined  that  she  was  sincere 
in  every  word  she  uttered.  She  was  sorry  for  Hat- 
tie,  and  she  did  wish  her  to  have  a  cloak ;  but  she 
was  not  sorry  enough  to  put  herself  to  any  more 
trouble  on  Ilattie's  account  than  to  utter  a  few  ex- 
clamations of  pity,  and  it  never  occurred  to  her  that 
her  wish  might  be  fulfilled  if  she  was  only  willing 


WISHING   AND  DOING.  21 

to  part  with  one  of  the  many  cloaks  and  shawls  with 
which  her  wardrobe  was  stored.   With  Carrie  the  case 
was  different.    She  had  expressed  so' little  sympathy 
for  her  friend  that  Jennie  even  wondered  at  her  in- 
difference.   But  if  she  said  little,  it  was  because  she 
was  thinking  a  great  deal.     Her  father,  although  in 
comfortable  circumstances,  was  not  so  wealthy  as 
Mr.  Melville  ;  and,  though  he  took  care  that  his 
family  should  have  all  their  wants  supplied,  yet  he 
had  never  thought  it  right  to  expend  money  upon 
articles  which  were  wholly  unnecessary.     So  it  hap- 
pened that  Carrie  had  just  two  cloaks — one  new  and 
the  other  old.   When  she  heard  of  Hattie's  need,  she 
immediately  began  to  consider  whether  it  would  be 
possible  for  her  to  do  without  one  of  these,  in  order 
to  contribute  to  her  friend's  comfort.    At  first  she 
was  disposed  to  answer  to  the  question  thus  pre- 
sented to  her  mind,  "  JSTo,  I  need  all  that  I  have  my- 
self."   But  when  she  had  said  "  good  afternoon  "  to 
Jennie,  and  was  walking  alone  up  the  garden-path, 
there  came  to  her  memory  a  verse  she  had  once 
learned  in  Sunday-school :   "  Let  him  that  hath  two 
coats  impart  to  him  that  hath  none,"  and  that  settled 
her  decision. 


HV>7//.V0  AND  DOING. 

C:>:  t  straight  to  her  mother's  room,  and 

sion  to  give  away  the  cloak  she  then 
wore.    Mrs.  Grey  at  first  wondered  at  such  a  re- 
quest ;  but  after  inquiring  the  reason  why  it 
made,  she  readily  gave  consent  to  her  daug; 
plan.     She  was  willing  that  her  child  should  learn 
to  deny  herself  in  order  to  promote  the  happiness  of 
others.     Of  course,  Carrie  had  a  walk  to  Mrs.  Mur- 
phy's, and  Ilattie  a  glad  surprise. 

And  though  it  was  rather  hard  to  bear,  the  next 
morning,  the  inquisitive  gaze  of  her  schoolmates, 
and  to  hear  them  whisper,  "  Carrie  Grey  has  on  her 
best  cloak,"  (school-girls  will  sometimes  do  such  rude 
things,  you  know,)  yet  Carrie  felt  happy  in  the  con- 
sciousness that  she  had  performed  a  deed  of  kind- 
ness, one  which  her  heavenly  Father  might  approve. 
And  when  the  girls,  crowding  to  the  window,  saw 
Hut  tie  coming  up  the  road,  and  recognized  the  warm 
garment  which  protected  her  from  the  cold,  do  you 
think  that  they  loved  or  respected  Carrie  less  than 
they  had  before  ?  Jennie  was  loud  in  her  expres- 
sion of  praise,  for  she  had  really  wanted  Ilattie  to 
have  a  cloak.  The  wishes  of  the  two  friends  had 


WISHING   AND  DOING.  23 

been  the  same;   but  one  had  acted  in  accordance 
with  her  desire,  and  the  other  had  not. 

Do  you  know  what  is  meant  in  the  Bible  by  the 
word  goodness  ?  It  is  only  wishing  well,  and  doing 
well — wanting  to  do  good  to  others,  and  then  trying 
to  do  them  good.  It  was  this  fruit  of  the  Spirit 
which  Carrie  bore.  It  was  this  that  brought  Jesus 
down  to  earth  that  he  might  seek  and  save  the  lost. 
Let  us  try  to  imitate  his  example ;  for  "  He  went 
about  doing  good." 


III. 


ELL,  the  vacation  has  come  at  last,  and  I 
am  very  glad  of  it.  I  mean  to  have  a 
real  good  time  all  the  week ;  it  will  be 
BO  very  nice  not  to  have  any  thing  to  do  but  play." 

These  were  the  first  thoughts  that  came  into  the 
mind  of  Minnie  Hurlburt,  as  she  awoke  on  a  certain 
Monday  morning  in  the  month  of  May. 

"  I  will  make  three  or  four  new  dresses  for  my 
doll,  and  read  the  story-book  that  father  gave  me 
the  other  day,  and  I  mean  to  ask  mother  if  I  may 
invite  Cousin  Jennie  to  come  and  play  tea  with  me 
this  afternoon.  Then,  perhaps,  to-morrow,  Uncle 
James  will  give  me  that  ride  he  promised  so  long 
ago.  I  guess  he  will  if  he  only  hears  that  we  have 
vacation  this  week." 


TWO   DAYS.  25 

Just  here,  Minnie's  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by 
the  ringing  of  a  bell — the  signal  for  rising.  But 
she  did  not  obey  the  summons  immediately ;  there 
was  no  need  of  hurrying  that  morning,  she  thought, 
and  consequently  postponed  answering  the  call 
until  so  late  that  morning  prayers  and  breakfast 
were  both  over  before  she  was  ready  to  go  down- 
stairs. The  mortification  of  finding  herself  so  tardy, 
together  with  a  mild  rebuke  from  her  mother,  de- 
stroyed Minnie's  good-humor,  so  that  the  day  was 
not  commenced  as  pleasantly  as  she  had  anticipated. 
However,  this  bad  beginning  was  soon  forgotten  in. 
the  pleasure  of  arranging,  for  the  twentieth  time,  a 
magnificent  doll-house  —  a  birthday  gift  from  her 
father.  She  had  succeeded  in  getting  it  into  a  won- 
derful state  of  confusion,  when  her  mother  called 
from  the  next  room,  "  Minnie,  what  are  you  do- 
ing?" 

"Cleaning  house,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  I  want  you  to  stop  playing,  and  come  and 
watch.  Willie  while  I  write  this  letter." 

"I  don't  want  to;   I  want  to  play,"  Minnie  an- 
swered crossly. 

"  Come  here,  my  child,  right  away.     I  am  aston- 


26  >   DATS. 

ished  that  you  should  speak  to  me  in  such  a  man- 
ner." 

vhaps  Mrs.  Ilurlburt  would  not  have  been  so 
surprised  at  her  daughter's  conduct  if  she  had  k; 
th:it  the  little  girl,  in  planning  how  she  should  spend 
the  day,  had  considered  only  her  own  amusement, 
and  not  at  all  how  she  could  please  any  one  else. 
People  who  think?  only  of  their  own  convenience, 
you  know,  are  very  apt  to  be  disobliging  and  un- 
kind if  they  are  requested  to  do  any  thing  for 
others. 

Minnie  was  obliged  to  watch  the  baby;  but  she 
did  it  with  so  dark  a  frown  on  her  face,  and  took  so 
little  pains  to  interest  him,  that  he  became  trouble- 
some, and  compelled  his  mother  to  leave  her  letter 
unfinished  in  order  to  attend  to  him.  Minnie  re- 
turned to  her  play,  but  was  unable  to  enjoy  it. 
House-cleaning  failing  to  attract  any  longer,  she  at- 
tempted dress-making.  But  this,  for  some  reason, 
proved  unusually  difficult  The  seams  would  be 
crooked,  and  the  thread  would  knot,  and  the  needle 
would  prick  her  fingers,  and  finally,  Minnie  gave 
up  in  despair.  Just  as  she  did  so,  Mrs.  Ilurlburt 
entered  the  room,  saying,  "Come,  my  dear,  you 


TWO   DATS.  27 

have  played  long  enough.  I  want  you  to  hem  this 
handkerchief  for  me." 

"  0  mother !  I  don't  want  to  work  in  vacation. 
Need  I  ?  I  want  to  read  my  new  book." 

"  Very  well ;  you  may  gratify  yourself  or  your 
mother,  just  as  you  think  best.  Of  course,  you  will 
not  expect  me  to  grant  you  any  favors  while  you 
are  unwilling  to  do  any  thing  to  please  me." 

Minnie  did  not  answer,  but  sullenly  went  for  her 
book,  in  which  she  expected  to  find  a  great  deal  of 
amusement ;  but,  strangely  enough,  she  found  both 
the  stories  and  pictures  uninteresting  and  dull.  So 
far,  she  had  not  succeeded  so  well  as  she  had  ex- 
pected in  trying  to  enjoy  herself;  but  still  bent  upon 
her  own  gratification,  she  ran  to  her  mother  with  the 
request,  "Ma,  may  I  go  for  Cousin  Jennie  to  come 
and  spend  the  afternoon  with  me  ?" 

"  No,  my  child.  You  know  that  you  have  been 
a  naughty  girl  this  morning,  and  I  shall  punish  you 
by  denying  you  this  pleasure." 

Here  Minnie  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  endeavoring 
to  be  happy,  and  made  herself  so  unamiable  through 
the  rest  of  the  day,  that  her  mother  was  compelled 
to  send  her  to  her  own  room  before  dark,  and  to 


TWO   DAYS. 

forbid  her  to  leave  it  until  the  next  morning.  She 
had  a  long  evening  all  to  herself;  but  then,  as 
Ilurlburt  said,  "When  people  are  ill-natured,  the 
best  thing  for  them  is  to  be  alone — it  gives  them  an 
opportunity  to  repent  of  their  wickedness."  Besides 
that,  Minnie  had  time  enough  to  become  thoroughly 
rested;  and  when  morning  came,  she  was  up  and 
dressed  before  any  one  else,  looking  and  feeling  as 
happy  as  a  bird. 

"Mother,  shall  I  take  Willie  into  the  garden 
awhile  was  her  first  question  after  breakfast ;  and 
she  played,  with  her  little  brother  so  kindly,  and 
amused  him  so  well,  that  he  appeared  rather  sorry 
than  glad  when  his  nurse  came  to  take  him  into  the 
house  again.  After  that,  the  little  girl,  having 
learned  how  much  better  it  is  to  be  useful  than  to  bo 
idle,  offered  to  do  for  her  mother  the  sewing  about 
which  she  had  been  so  disobliging  the  day  before. 
When  her  work  was  done,  there  was  still  time  to 
spend  an  hour  with  her  book  before  dinner;  and 
now  (what  do  you  think  could  have  made  the  dif- 
ference ?)  the  stories  were,  as  she  expressed  it,  *'  per- 
fectly splendid."  Yet  they  were  unaltered — Minnie 
only  was  changed.  In  the  afternoon,  just  as  she  was 


TWO   DAYS.  29 

hesitating  whether  or  not  to  resume  the  making  of 
her  doll's  unfinished  dress,  her  oldest  brother,  Eddy, 
rushed  into  the  room,  exclaiming,  "Mother,  Uncle 
James  is  at  the  gate,  and  he  wants  either  Minnie  or 
me  to  take  a  ride  with  him.  He  says  it  can  be  the 
one  that  you  choose." 

At  first  Minnie  looked  up  eagerly,  hoping  that 
she  would  be  the  favored  one  ;  but  then  she  remem- 
bered that  her  brother  was  quite  as  anxious  to  go  as 
herself,  and  she  said  quietly :  "  Well,  mother,  let 
Eddy  go ;  I  have  more  to  amuse  me  at  home  than 
he  has." 

Mrs.  Hurlburt  looked  pleased  to  see  her  daughter 
so  generous,  and  Eddy,  without  waiting  for  further 
discussion,  ran  off  to  the  carriage.  Minnie  lost  her 
long-anticipated  ride,  but  she  took  a  delightful  walk 
with  her  mother,  which  was  a  pleasure  second  only 
to  the  one  she  had  sacrificed. 

On  their  return,  Mrs.  Hurlburt  asked,  "  Minnie, 
are  you  not  happier  now  than  you  were  yesterday 
afternoon  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  think  I  can  tell  you  the  reason 
why.  Yesterday  you  tried  to  please  yourself  only, 


80  TWO  DATS. 

even  though  you  grieved  some  one  else ;  to-day  you 
have  been  -willing  to  deny  yourself  in  order  to  gniti- 
fy  others.  We  are  quite  sure  to  be  happy  as  long 
as  we  obey  the  Golden  Rule  —  'Whatsoever  ye 
would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to 
them.' " 


IV. 


ILLIE  LEE  is  a  boy  who  knows  how  to 
behave  himself  He  has  understood, 
ever  since  he  has  been  able  to  under- 
stand any  thing,  the  difference  between  politeness 
and  rudeness ;  and,  what  is  more,  he  can,  when  he 
chooses,  act  in  every  respect  like  a  gentleman. 
Consequently  it  is  not  strange  that  when  Mrs. 
Brown,  or  Mrs.  Smith,  or  any  other  of  Mrs.  Lee's 
acquaintances  "drop  in"  to  make  her  an  afternoon 
call,  and  happen  to  find  Willie  in  the  parlor,  they 
usually  form  a  very  good  opinion  of  his  manners, 
and  frequently  go  away  saying,  "What  a  polite 
boy  Willie  is  !  Why,  he  is  a  perfect  little  gentle- 
man!" 


32  uv/.ir  .v.iAVi.s  .1  01 

But  could  these  same  persons  observe  "\Yilliu's 
behavior  at  some  time  when  no  company  is  pr- 
probably   their  remarks  would  be  of  a  different 
character. 

••Hurrah!''  exclaimed  "Willie  one  day  not  very 
long  ago,  "father's  going  to  take  me  out  sleigh- 
riding  I"  So  saying,  he  rushed  into  the  sitting-room 
and  began  to  inquire  loudly  for  his  cap  and  over- 
coat, at  the  same  time  making  sundry  evolutions 
around  the  room,  and  managing  to  upset  during 
the  operation  two  or  three  chairs,  beside  his  sister's 
•work-basket 

"  Gently,  Willie,"  said  his  mother.  "  There !  you 
have  waked  the  baby  already." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  rejoined  "Willie,  very  indiffe- 
rently, as  though  he  did  not  care  at  all  whether  he 
could  help  it  or  not. 

Indeed,  he  showed  very  plainly  that  he  was  far 
from  being  sorry  for  the  mischief  he  had  done ;  for 
the  general  bustle  which  he  had  contrived  to  create 
was  not  only  continued,  but  increased. 

"  Willie,  do  be  careful  1"  "  Willie,  you  must  not 
be  so  rude!"  "Willie,  please  be  quiet!"  were  the 
exclamations  that  came  from  all  parts  of  the  room. 


WHAT  MAKES  A    GENTLEMAN?  33 

One  would  have  thought  that  "Willie"  would  have 
grown  tired  of  hearing  his  name  repeated  so  often. 
-Perhaps  he  did ;  for  it  was  not  long  before  he  ran 
out  into  the  hall,  calling  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

"  Sarah !  come  here  quick  I     I  want  my  coat !" 

"  Well,  if  you  expect  me  to  get  it  for  you,  you 
can  just  ask  more  politely,  so  you  can,"  was  the  re- 
joinder that  came  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

It  would  be  hardly  safe  to  repeat  the  reply  which 
followed — some  little  boy  might  be  foolish  enough 
to  imitate  it ;  but  it  was  so  poorly  calculated  to  re- 
store Sarah's  good-humor  that  Willie  was  left  to  find 
his  coat  as  best  he  could  alone. 

He  had  just  discovered  it  lying  under  a  sofa,  with 
his  cap  in  one  of  the  pockets — he  had  thrown  it 
there  upon  his  return  from  school — when  the  sound 
of  sleigh-bells  was  heard  approaching  the  door. 

"0  dear!"  he  exclaimed,  "there  comes  father, 
and  I'm  not  ready.  Mother,  help  me  put  this  on, 
won't  you?" 

"Mother "lent  her  assistance,  and  the  slamming 
of  doors  which  followed  proved  that  it  was  Willie 
and  no  one  else  who  was  leaving  the  house.  Mrs. 
Lee  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  sat  down ;  "  Grand- 


\\-JIAT  J/.17v/>    .1     (, 


pa  Harris''  resumed  his  spectacles  and  his  reading, 
and  all  was  quiet  for  two  hours.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  Willie  returned,  and  with  him,  what  was  not  so 
welcome,  the  noise. 

""Willie,"  said  his  grandfather  after  supper,  when 
he  and  the  little  boy  had  been  left  alone  together, 
"you  have  not  been  a  very  good  soldier  to-da}'. 
You  have  been  wounding  a  number  of  your  friends 
without  cause." 

"  How  is  that,  sir  ?"  asked  Willie,  (he  never  spoke 
disrespectfully  to  his  grandfather.) 

"  Don't  you  remember  my  saying  the  other  day 
that  all  who  live  in  the  world  are  soldiers,  fighting 
together  the  battle  of  life  ?  Every  family  is  a  com- 
pany in  a  great  army.  Now,  what  would  you  think 
of  a  soldier  in  camp  who  should  suddenly  rise,  with- 
out any  reason  for  so  doing,  and  begin  to  attack  the 
members  of  his  own  company  ;  drawing  his  sword 
over  one,  sticking  his  bayonet  into  another,  and  fir- 
ing at  a  third  ?  You  would  say  that  the  man  was 
beside  himself.  Yet  this  is  exactly  what  you  have 
been  doing  all  day.  Why,  just  think  how  many 
persons'  feelings  you  have  injured  only  this  after- 
noon. First,  you  displeased  your  mother  \vh-  n  you 


WHAT  MAKES  A    GENTLEMAN?  35 

awoke  the  baby  so  rudely ;  then  you  hindered  your 
sister  with  her  work,  and  stopped  your  grandfather's 
reading ;  after  that,  you  offended  Sarah  by  speaking 
to  her  so  unkindly;  and  at  the  tea-table  you  made 
your  little  sister  very  uncomfortable  by  laughing  at 
a  slight  mistake  she  made.  Ah !  my  boy,  if  you 
mean  to  be  a  gentleman  when  you  grow  up,  you 
must  begin  by  being  gentle  now.  I  remember, 
when  I  was  a  boy"  —  Willie's  eyes  brightened  — 
"there  were  two  boys  attending  the  same  school 
that  I  did,  who  were  unlike  in  every  respect.  One 
of  them  was  from  the  country — a  farmer's  son.  His 
clothes  were  of  plain  homespun,  his  boots  coarse  and 
heavy,  and  his  short,  bushy  hair  always  stood  out 
straight  from  his  head.  He  knew  nothing  about  the 
customs  of  what  is  termed  polite  society ;  yet,  if  the 
most  important  thing  in  the  character  of  a  gentle- 
man is,  as  I  lately  read,  '  a  respect  for  the  feelings 
of  others,'  he  was  truly  a  gentleman.  He  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  doing  any  one  a  kindness, 
and  he  was  careful  not  to  displease  even  the  small- 
est child  in  the  school.  Of  course,  Mike,  as  we 
called  him,  was  a  general  favorite  and  had  plenty  of 
friends.  The  other  boy,  Alfred,  had  been  brought 


86  uv/.ir  .v.iA'/.N  A   t;n.\TLi-:u.\\? 


up  among  the  refinements  of  city  life.  He  knew 
how  to  bow  politely,  and  to  dance  gracefully,  and  to 
.:  pleasant,  smooth-sounding  words.  His  cloth- 
ing was  always  in  the  newest  style,  and  his  toilet 
made  with  the  greatest  care.  Those  who  had 
him  only  a  few  times  thought  him  a  model  of  polite- 
ness. Yet  a  more  selfish,  disobliging  boy  it  would 
be  hard  to  find.  He  cared  nothing  for  the  wishes  of 
others  so  long  as  he  could  please  himself,  and  did 
whatever  his  fancy  led  him  to  do,  even  though  it 
were  at  the  expense  of  offending  those  whom  he 
called  bis  friends.  I  learned  from  observing  those 
two  boys  that  true  politeness  consists  not  in  outward 
manners,  but  in  real  kindness  of  heart  —  in  the  de- 
sire and  effort  to  make  others  happy.  Willie,  my 
boy,  you  must  be  more  gentle." 

"Willie  promised  to  try.    It  is  to  be  hoped  he  will 
succeed     "  The  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  gentleness." 


HE  short  winter  day  was  over.  The  sun 
had  gone  down  below  the  western  hills, 
and  "left  the  world  to  darkness."  The 
wind  moaned  through  the  branches  of  the  leafless 
trees,  and  by  turns  roared  and  whistled  in  the 
chimney.  It  was  dreary  without,  but  within  the 
fire  was  brightly  glowing  in  the  grate,  and  a  group 
of  happy  faces  surrounded  it,  where  a  mother  had 
gathered  her  little  ones  around  her  to  spend  the 
twilight  hour  in  quiet  talk.  The  various  pleasures 
of  the  day  were  recounted.  Charles  told  what  "  a 
splendid  time  "  he  had  had  skating,  and  how  he  had 
"  beaten  "  all  the  boys  in  a  race  on  the  ice ;  Jennie 
repeated  the  praises  Aunt  Fanny  had  bestowed  on 
her  favorite  doll ;  Ella  related  an  amusing  story  she 


y.i/./r 

1  iad  read,  and  Jeinmie,  the  youngest,  gave  a:: 
count  of  a  battle  which  had  occurred  between  his 
dog  Carlo  and  his  sister's  kitten. 

The  mother  listened  kindly  and  attentively  to  all 
these  narratives,  and  then  herself  began  to  speak 
upon  more  serious  subjects. 

It  was  Saturday  evening ;  and,  as  it  was  her  cus- 
tom to  do  at  the  close  of  every  week,  she  requested 
of  her  children  to  repeat  the  lesson  he  was  to 
recite  on  the  morrow.  This  they  enjoyed  doing ;  for 
they  had  thoroughly  committed  to  memory  their 
hymns  and  verses,  and  had  only  to  open  their 
mouths  and  let  the  words  fall  from  their  lips.  But 
they  were  especially  glad  when  "  mother  "  lifted  the 
catechism  from  the  table  near  her,  and  began  to  find 
the  place  by  the  light  of  the  fire.  They  were  sure 
that  she  would  have  something  to  tell  them  which 
would  make  the  lesson  plainer  and  more  interest- 
ing ;  and  they  were  not  disappointed. 

The  subject  that  evening  was  Thankfulness,  and 

the  first  question,  which  was  addressed  to  Charles, 

was  this :  "  Since  we  are  delivered  from  our  misery, 

merely  of  grace  through  Christ,  why  must  we  still 

•AH!  works?" 


AN  EVENING    TALK.  39 

The  answer  came  promptly :  "  Because  that 
Christ,  having  redeemed  and  delivered  us,  also  re- 
news us."  The  others  were  then  questioned  in  turn, 
and  again  Charles  was  asked,  "  Why  does  Christ 
renew  us  by  the  Holy  Spirit  after  his  own  image  ?" 
and  the  answer  came  as  quickly  as  before,  "That 
so  we  may  express  our  gratitude  to  God  for  his 
blessings." 

Here  the  mother  closed  the  book.  "  "We  will  stop 
here,"  she  said ;  "  for  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little 
while  about  what  you  have  recited. 

"You  know  that  there  are  many  people  in  the 
world  who  imagine  that  their  own  good  works  will 
take  them  to  heaven.  You  have  heard  of  the  hea- 
then in  far-off  India,  who  run  iron  hooks  into  their 
bodies,  perform  painful  journeys  by  rolling  them- 
selves over  the  ground,  throw  themselves  beneath 
the  wheels  of  the  car  of  their  god  Juggernaut,  and 
torment  themselves  in  various  ways,  hoping  that  the 
sufferings  which  they  undergo  will  secure  their  hap- 
piness hereafter.  You  have  heard  of  the  old  Eoman 
Catholic  monks  who  shut  themselves  up  in  convent- 
cells,  denied  themselves  food  when  they  were  hun- 
gry, and  sleep  when  they  were  weary,  repeated 


40  TALK. 

prayers  without  number,  and  punished  thorns- 
for  their  sins  by  all  the  methods  which  they  could 
nt,  expecting  thus  to  win  the  favor  of  God. 
you,  perhaps,  have  heard  people,  who  ought  to 
know  better  than  these  heathen  devotees  and  Catho- 
lic monks,  say,  with  apparent  sincerity,  'Well,  I  try 
to  do  as  well  as  I  can,  and  I  think  that  I  will  come 
out  right  at  last.'  But  all  these  are  very  greatly  mis- 
taken. Nothing  that  they  can  do,  either  to  torture 
themselves  or  to  benefit  others,  will  be  of  any  ac- 
count when  they  come  to  die;  for  the  Bible,  you 
know,  says :  *  By  grace  are  ye  saved,  through  faith  ; 
and  that  not  of  yourselves :  it  is  the  gift  of  God.' 
Yet,  although  heaven  has  been  purchased  for  us,  al- 
though salvation  is  freely  offered  to  us,  we  can  not, 
for  this  reason,  live  lives  of  wickedness,  saying  to 
ourselves  that  God  is  so  merciful  that  we  shall  be 
safe  in  the  end.  Indeed,  no  true  Christian  would 
desire  to  do  this.  Having  received  so  many  bless- 
ings from  the  Father  above,  he  would  ever  desire  to 
please  him  by  doing  the  things  which  he  loves,  and 
avoiding  sin,  which  he  hates.  But  he  will  not  try  to 
do  good  in  order  by  so  doing  to  win  for  himself  a 
home  in  heaven ;  for  that  is  already  his,  purchased 


AN  EVENING    TALE.  41 

by  the  price  paid  on  Calvary.  I  remember  once 
reading  a  story  •which  "will  show  you  what  I  mean 
by  this. 

"  Many  years  ago,  there  lived  in  a  distant  Eastern 
city  a  little  boy  named  Ozair.  His  home  was  a  pa- 
lace, whose  richly  sculptured  walls,  long  and  elegant 
galleries,  costly  furniture,  and  beautiful  gardens  were 
the  pride  of  its  owner,  the  king  of  the  country. 
Golden  fountains  glittered  in  the  marble  courts, 
splendid  ornaments  were  everywhere  scattered  in 
profusion,  the  fragrance  of  many  perfumes  filled  the 
air,  and  singing-birds  and  sweet-toned  instruments 
poured  forth  continual  streams  of  enchanting  melody. 
But  amid  all  this  magnificence  Ozair  was  unhappy. 
To  him  the  palace  was  a  prison,  the  armed  men  who 
guarded  it  were  jailers,  his  silken  robes  were  galling 
fetters ;  for  the  boy  was  a  slave.  He  was  young ; 
but  it  seemed  to  him  that  ages  had  gone  by  since  he 
had  last  received  a  mother's  kiss  or  seen  a  father's 
smile — since  the  bright  spring  morning  when  his  pa- 
rents, in  their  lonely  mountain  hut,  had  been  seized, 
and  carried  he  knew  not  whither  by  the  soldiers  of 
the  king,  and  he,  their  only  child,  had  been  taken,  a 
captive,  to  the  dwelling  of  the  monarch,  that  he 


AN  /•:}'/•:. \f.\i;  TALK. 

might  amuse  him  by  his  presence  and  delight  him  by 
his  beauty.  Since  then  years  had  passed;  but  the 
boy  still  longed  for  his  mountain-home,  for  a  sight 
of  the  trees  beneath  which  he  had  once  played,  of 
the  rocks  on  which  he  had  once  climbed,  of  the  rip- 
pling stream  which  had  run  by  his  father's  door.  If 
he  could  only  again  be  free,  he  thought,  he  would 
ask  for  nothing  beside.  But  it  was  in  vain,  he  knew, 
to  wish  for  liberty ;  he  must  remain  an  unwilling  in- 
habitant of  a  palace,  a  slave  in  the  home  of  a  prince. 
But  after  some  time  had  elapsed,  another  and  more 
powerful  ruler,  from  a  far-off  land,  came  on  a 
to  the  king.  lie  came  in  great  state,  attended  by 
many  followers,  and  bringing  costly  presents,  the 
products  of  the  country  which  he  governed,  lie 
remained  a  number  of  weeks,  winning,  by  his  gen- 
tleness and  courteousness,  the  respect  and  love  of  all 
who  approached  him.  One  morning,  as  the  two 
kings  were  conversing  together,  the  guest  said  to  his 
friend :  '  You  have  a  child  among  your  servants 
whom  I  should  like  to  have  for  my  own.  If  you 
will  sell  him,  I  will  give  you  whatever  price  you 
may  ask.  I  mean  the  boy  Ozair.'  The  monareh, 
replying  that  he  valued  the  young  captive  highly, 


AN  EVENING    TALK.  43 

named  a  very  large  sum  as  the  price  he  would  de- 
mand. This  the  other  did  not  scruple  to  pay ;  so 
Ozair  was  sold.  '  Now,'  said  his  new  owner,  '  let  the 
child  be  brought.'  The  boy  came  at  the  summons, 
expecting  to  be  required  to  perform  some  office  of 
duty  for  his  late  master ;  but  what  was  his  surprise 
to  be  addressed  in  such  words  as  these :  '  Ozair,  I 
have  bought  you  from  your  lord  the  king.  You  are 
no  longer  to  be  a  slave,  but  are  to  be  my  son.  I  will 
take  you  to  my  home,  bring  you  up  with  my  own 
children,  and  educate  you  as  a  prince.'  The  child 
could  do  nothing  but  weep  tears  of  joy  and  grati- 
tude. He  believed  every  word  that  he  had  heard  ; 
he  knew  that  the  king  was  too  good  and  too  kind  to 
deceive  him,  but  he  could  hardly  realize  that  he,  the 
orphan  captive,  had  become  the  son  of  a  mighty 
king.  Yet  so  it  was.  '  My  father,'  he  exclaimed,  '  I 
can  do  nothing  but  love  thee ;  that  will  I  do  all  the 
days  of  my  life.'  Before  a  great  while,  the  monarch, 
taking  with  him  his  newly-adopted  son,  set  out  upon 
his  return.  The  journey  was  long  and  difficult.  The 
road  lay  sometimes  across  a  pathless  desert,  some- 
times through  gloomy  forests,  the  abodes  of  savage 
beasts.  But  Ozair  never  complained  either  of  the 


tediousness  or  of  the  perils  of  the 
going  to  his  father's  house,  and  the  thought  filled 
him  with  happiness  continually.  Besides,  the  kind 
ut  to  whose  home  he  was  traveling  was  with 
him  as  he  journeyed  thither,  and,  trusting  to  his  care 
and  protection,  he  felt  that  he  was  safe.  At  length 
they  reached  the  city  where  the  king  abode,  the  ca- 
pital of  the  country.  Ozair  was  immediately  con- 
ducted to  the  palace,  which  was  far  more  magnificent 
than  the  one  in  which  his  boyhood  had  been  passed. 
Its  splendor  might  be  imagined,  but  never  described. 
As  the  child  beheld  it,  he  was  filled  with  amazement, 
and  cried  out,  *  How  can  I  ever  be  thankful  enough 
to  him  who  has  brought  me  to  such  a  home  as  this  ?' 
And  the  boy's  after-life  proved  that  his  words  were 
sincere.  No  task  was  too  difficult  for  him  to  under- 
take, no  danger  too  great  for  him  to  encounter,  no 
burden  too  heavy  for  him  to  bear,  if  only  he  could, 
in  some  way,  express  his  gratitude  to  the  one  who 
had  redeemed  him  from  bondage,  and  made  him  his 
son  and  heir.  If  the  king  was  sick,  Ozair  watched 
over  him ;  if  weary,  he  entertained  him  with  read- 
ing or  music;  if  troubled  with  the  affairs  of  the 
realm,  he  assisted  him  as  much  as  possible  in  trans- 


AN    EVENING    TALK.  45 

acting  his  business.  Once,  -when  his  brothers  had 
conspired  to  take  their  father's  life  and  to  seize  upon 
the  throne,  Ozair,  discovering  their  plan,  revealed  it 
to  the  king,  and  thus  prevented  its  execution. 

"But  it  would  take  too  long  a  time  to  tell  you  of 
all  the  ways  in  which  this  boy  proved  his  thankful- 
ness. I  can  only  say  that  he  constantly  showed  it 
throughout  his  whole  life.  He  endeavored  always 
to  please  the  king  by  every  means  in  his  power; 
and  he  did  so,  not  that  he  might  secure  the  palace  as 
his  own — it  was  already  his ;  not  that  he  might  be 
declared  heir  to  the  throne — he  knew  that  if  he  lived 
he  should  some  day  ascend  it.  He  tried  only  to 
manifest  his  love. 

"  And  in  this,"  the  mother  continued,  "  the  heir 
to  an  earthly  crown  was  not  unlike  those  who  have 
been  adopted  into  the  family  of  the  great  Father  in 
heaven.  They  endeavor,  not  to  win  his  love,  but 
only  to  thank  him  for  it ;  not  to  assure  themselves 
of  a  home  above,  but  to  become  worthy  of  it ;  not 
to  secure  their  own  freedom  from  the  bondage  of  sin, 
for  they  have  been  redeemed  with  a  price  more  pre- 
cious than  silver  and  gold,  but  only  to  live  as  chil- 
dren of  God ;  and  living  thus,  they  shall  one  day 


46  AN  EVENING    7-1 

become  'kings  and  priests'  unto  the  Lord  in  the 
'house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  hea- 
vens.' " 

Just  then  the  shutting  of  the  gate  was  heard,  in 
the  dusky  light  &  tall  form  was  seen  coming  up  the 
gravel  walk,  and  the  children,  shouting,  "Papa 
come !"  ran  to  meet  him  at  the  door. 


VI. 


T  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  some 
people  to  make  a  promise.  They  -  will 
say  Yes  or  No  to  any  thing  that  may  be 
asked  of  them,  sometimes  knowing  what  they  say, 
but  often  without  knowing ;  sometimes  intending  to 
keep  their  word,  and  sometimes  without  thinking  or 
caring  any  thing  about  it.  Such  persons  are  usually 
very  polite  and  pleasant,  full  of  smiles  and  soft 
words,  and,  if  one  could  only  rely  upon  them,  they 
would  be  very  obliging — for,  you  know,  they  will 
promise  any  thing.  But  there  is  just  the  difficulty  ; 
for  these  easy-tempered,  good-natured  people  who 
never  can  bear  to  say  No  are  oftentimes  so  very  easy- 
tempered  that  they  are  able  to  utter  a  falsehood  as 


UK  <,IllL    WE  D  NOT  BE  TRU*  i 

easily  as  a  truth,  and  feel  no  disturbance  of  con- 
science whatever. 

-•sic  Hill's  character,  it  must  be  confessed,  was 
such  a  one  as  has  just  been  described.  She  was  a 
child  whom  every  one  loved ;  for  she  seemed  to  love 
every  one,  and  she  appeared  so  anxious  to  please,  so 
unwilling  to  be  disobliging,  that  one  who  had  known 
her  only  a  short  time  might  have  considered  her  dis- 
position very  nearly  perfect.  Yet,  if  Mr.  A.,  her 
music  teacher,  had  been  questioned  as  to  what  he 
knew  of  Bessie,  he  might  have  told  how  every  week 
for  a  whole  quarter  she  had  repeatedly  promised  to 
practise  for  an  hour  each  day,  and  how,  every  week 
in  the  quarter,  she  had  failed  to  keep  her  word,  until 
at  length  his  patience  would  have  been  completely 
exhausted  had  not  his  little  pupil  renewed  more 
earnestly  than  ever  the  assurance  that  she  would 
really  try  to  do  better.  Yet  he  knew  that  while  he 
hoped  for  the  best,  his  hope  was  doomed  to  be  disap- 
pointed. 

And  Miss  Ellers,  who  every  Sabbath  went  to  Sun- 
day-school thinking,  "  How  glad  I  will  be  if  Bessie 
has  learned  her  lesson,  as  she  said  she  would  do," 
and  every  Sabbath  went  away  sorry  because  of  Bes- 


THE  GIRL  WHO  COULD  NOT  BE  TRUSTED.    49 

sie's  broken  promise ;  and  Mrs.  Banks,  who  day 
after  day  worried  through  one  imperfect  recitation 
after  another  in  the  constant  expectation  of  an  im- 
provement which  it  seemed  must  come,  it  had  been 
so  often  promised — both  of  these  might  have  agreed 
with  Mr.  A.  in  saying  that  Bessie  was  certainly  the 
most  amiable  of  all  their  pupils,  but,  at  the  same 
time,  the  most  unreliable.  Bessie's  mother,  too, 
mourned  over  this  fault  of  her  child,  and  tried,  but 
tried  in  vain,  to  help  the  little  girl  to  overcome  it. 
She  would  persist  in  promising  to  meet  her  school- 
mates at  certain  hours  and  places,  and  in  then  going 
home  and  forgetting  all  about  her  engagements,  leav- 
ing her  friends  to  wonder  where  Bessie  Hill  could 
be.  And  she  would  not  give  up  her  habit  of  run- 
ning over  to  Aunt  Hester's  in  the  morning  and  say- 
ing, "Auntie,  I  will  come  and  play  with  the  baby 
this  afternoon,"  when  she  knew  very  well  that,  when 
afternoon  came,  the  baby  would  probably  be  left  to 
amuse  himself,  while  his  little  cousin  across  the 
street  was  occupied  with  some  new  toy  or  book,  just 
as  though  she  had  made  no  promise  at  all.  At  last 
Bessie  found  out  by  experience  what  her  friends  had 


60    TIH:  aiiiL  try.  D  NOT  11  TI:D. 

so  long  been  trying  to  teach  her,  that  it  was  very 
important  that  she  should  learn  to  keep  her  word. 

uong  Bessie's  companions  was  one  whom  she 
often  visited,  and  whose  home  was  at  some  distance 
from  Mr.  II ill's.  The  road  over  which  it  was  neces- 
sary to  pass  in  going  from  one  house  to  the  other 
was  a  lonely  one,  and  Bessie  had  been  often  told 
that  it  was  not  safe  for  her  to  attempt  to  go  back 
and  forth  alone.  There  was  usually  some  one  will- 
ing to  accompany  her,  and  she  was  too  young  to  be 
without  protection.  So  it  happened  that  one  plea- 
sant Saturday  morning  her  father  said:  "Come, 
Bessie,  I  am  going  to  take  a  long  ride  to-day.  If 
you  would  like  to  go  and  see  Mary  Brown,  (for  that 
was  the  little  girl's  name,)  I  will  leave  you  there  on 
my  way,  and  stop  for  you  on  my  return." 

"  Thank  you,  father,"  answered  Bessie.  "  I  would 
like  it  very  much."  So  the  arrangement  was  made. 
"  Now,  you  will  be  sure  to  wait  for  me  this  after- 
noon, will  you  not?1'  said  the  gentleman  to  his 
daughter  as  he  left  her  at  Mr.  Brown's  door.  "Oh ! 
yes,  father,  I  will  wait,  of  course,"  Bessie  replied, 
and  for  once  she  really  intended  to  keep  her  word. 
But  when  afternoon  came,  and  with  it  no  appearance 


THE  GIRL  WHO  COULD  NOT  BE  TRUSTED.    51 

of  her  father,  Bessie  began  to  grow  impatient.  She 
suddenly  remembered  an  arithmetic  lesson  which 
she  had  promised  to  learn  for  the  next  Monday,  and 
which  she  had  not  before  thought  of,  and  she  felt 
slightly  uneasy  in  regard  to  the  verse  which  she  had 
assured  Miss  Ellers  she  would  be  able  to  recite  on 
the  next  day,  and  which  now  for  the  first  time  came 
to  her  recollection.  You  see  her  conscience  was  not 
quite  dead  after  all,  only  it  troubled  her  at  the 
wrong  time.  However  that  may  be,  Bessie  im- 
agined that  she  had  a  sufficient  excuse  for  not  keep- 
ing the  promise  to  her  father,  as  by  observing  that 
she  would  be  in  danger  of  breaking  two  others 
made  before  it ;  so  she  said  to  Mary :  "  Mary,  I 
don't  believe  father  will  be  here  till  evening,  and 
mother  will  be  anxious  about  me,  so  I  am  going 
home.  See,  it  is  growing  dark  already."  Neither 
Mary  nor  herself  knew  that  the  darkness  was  caused 
by  the  gathering  storm,  and  not  by  the  approach  of 
night.  So  Bessie  set  out  on  her  return,  feeling, 
meanwhile,  very  guilty  and  unhappy.  She  had  not 
gone  more  than  half-way  before  the  rain-drops  began 
to  fall.  They  came  faster  and  faster  until  the  single 
drops  became  torrents  of  water.  Bessie  took  shelter 


52    THE  GIRL  WHO  COULD  NOT  BK  TIU'^TED. 

umler  a  large  tree,  and  looked  about  her  in  dismay. 
Above  her  all  was  blackness,  around  her  the  pour- 
ing rain.  The  branches  over  her  head  swayed  to 
and  fro  in  thfc  wind  until  Bessie  was  afraid  that  they 
might  fall  and  crush  her,  and  the  rain  penetrated  be- 
neath them,  and  came  and  made  a  little  pool  at  her 
Bessie  remembered  the  story  of  the  flood 
which  had  once  been  sent  to  punish  people  for  their 
wickedness,  and  she  began  to  fear  that  the  water 
around  her  would  continue  to  rise  gradually  until 
she  should  be  swallowed  up  in  the  waves,  just  like 
the  transgressors  who  were  drowned  in  the  time  of 
Noah.  She  was  in  the  act  of  looking  about  her  to 
see  whether  there  might  not  be  a  board  that  she 
could  get  to  float  upon,  as  some  were  represented  as 
doing  in  the  picture  in  the  larga  Bible  at  home, 
when  suddenly  the  sky  grew  brighter,  the  clouds 
overhead  began  to  break  and  move  away,  and  be- 
fore her,  reaching  from  the  glowing  hills  in  the  east 
higher  and  higher  up  along  the  brightening  heavens 
shone,  all  the  more  beautiful  for  the  darkness  that 
had  gone  before,  a  rainbow.  Bessie  was  comforted. 
"How  foolish  I  was,"  she  said  to  herself;  "I  might 
have  known  that  there  could  not  be  another  flood ;  for 


THE  GIRL  WHO  COULD  NOT  BE  TRUSTED.  53 

God  promised  Noah,  that  there  never  should  be  one 
again.  I  remember  now  that  the  rainbow  was  the 
sign  of  the  promise."  And  as  Bessie  thought  of  the 
faithfulness  of  the  great  Father  in  keeping  his  word 
to  his  children,  and  of  how  far  she  had  been  from 
imitating  his  example,  she  began  to  cry.  As  she 
stood  there  under  the  tree,  the  very  image  of  distress, 
troubled  with  mingled  sorrow  for  her  naughtiness  and 
anxiety  to  reacli  her  home,  Dr.  Burroughs  came  rid- 
ing slowly  along,  his  old  gray  horse  looking  almost 
as  rueful  as  Bessie  herself,  and  his  gig  bespattered 
with  mud  from  top  to  bottom. 

"  What !  little  girl,  out  here  in  this  storm  ?  Cry- 
ing, too  I  "Well,  I  don't  wonder.  Jump  in  here  by 
me,  and  I'll  take  you  where  you  can  get  some  dry 
clothes.  Strange  that  your  mother  should  let  you 
be  out  when  she  saw  the  shower  coming  on."  "  She 
didn't  let  me,"  sobbed  Bessie,  "  I  promised  father  to 
wait  for  him  at  Mr.  Brown's,  and,  instead  of  that, 
I  started  alone.  I'm  so  sorry."  "Yes,  I  should 
think  you  would  be,"  said  the  doctor.  He  was  a 
kind-hearted  man,  but  not  sparing  of  his  words.  "  I 
guess  you  will  remember  to  keep  your  promise  the 
next  time  you  make  one.  When  people  neglect  to 


M     •/•///;  '///J/.    \YlIu  ffU'I.D  NOT  BE  TRUS1 

their  word,  they  generally  get  iuto  trouble." 
And  with  this  remark  the  doctor  left  Bessie  to  h<-r 
own  reflections,  not  speaking  again  till  he  came  be- 
fore her  own  home.  There  he  put  her  down,  say- 
ing: "Let  me  give  you  one  piece  of  advice,  little 
girl.  Never  make  a  promise  unless  you  mean  to 
keep  it,  and  never  break  a  promise  after  it  is  made.'1 
Bessie  entered  the  house  feeling  very  miserable  and 
forlorn,  but,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  a  wiser  and  a  better 
girl  than  when  she  had  left  it  in  the  morning. 

Reader,  whoever  you  may  be,  whether  boy  or 
girl,  if  you  would  be  happy  and  prosperous  in  this 
world ;  if  you  would  enjoy  the  confidence  of  your 
friends — would  win  the  favor  of  the  God  above, 
speak  always  the  "truth  in  the  love  of  it"  Be  so 
honest,  so  upright  in  your  engagements  that  all  who 
know  you  may  be  able  to  trust  in  your  good  faith, 
your  fidelity  to  your  word.  Remember  that  "  it  is 
better  not  to  vow  than  to  vow  and  not  perform," 
and  that  "the  seat  of  faithfulness  is  in  the  heart 
where  God's  Holy  Spirit  dwells;"  for  "the  fruit  of 
the  Spirit  is  faith." 


vn. 


VERY  boy  and  girl  knows  how  short  a  day 
Saturday  always  is ;  how  quickly  the 
hours  fly  away,  and  how  little  time  there 
is  for  any  thing  beside  play.  Lucy  Brown  under- 
stood this  as  thoroughly  as  any  little  girl  could.  She 
knew  very  well  that,  if  she  began  in  the  morning  by 
dressing  dolls,  or  reading  story-books,  or  playing 
games,  somehow  or  another  the  sun  was  very  likely 
to  set,  and  bedtime  to  come  before  she  had  even 
thought  of  learning  her  Sunday-school  lesson.  Yet, 
no  one  would  have  supposed  that  Lucy  had  ever 
made  this  discovery ;  for  she  always  acted  as  if  she 
believed  that  the  last  day  of  the  week  would  be,  by 
some  means,  lengthened  out  twice  as  long  as  any 
other — as  if,  indeed,  it  could  have  no  end.  The  par- 


56  A   wvi. 

.r  Saturday  of  which  we  arc  speaking  she  had 
passed  very  much  as  many  others  before  it  She 
had  trimmed  a  walking-suit  for  tho  waxen  Emma, 
and  made  a  new  bonnet  for  china  Susie,  and  a  white 
apron  for  the  crying  doll.  She  had  played  hide-and- 
seek  with  Charlie,  and  was  just  in  the  midst  of  an 
enchanting  fairy  tale,  when,  noticing  that  it 
growing  dark  surprisingly  early,  she  suddenly  recol- 
lected her  Sunday-school  lesson.  The  fairy-book 
was  laid  aside,  and  her  little  pocket  Bible  easily 
found ;  for  among  Lucy's  faults  was  not  the  one  of 
being  disorderly. 

She  had  just  taken  her  seat  close  by  the  window, 
and  begun  to  study  very  earnestly,  when  Charlie  en- 
tered the  room. 

Now,  Charlie  was  not  a  bad  boy,  nor  an  ugly  one, 
but  he  did  love  to  tease  his  sister.  Not  that  he  de- 
lighted to  give  any  one  pain — he  would  have  scorned 
to  hurt  even  a  fly;  not  that,  in  other  respects,  he 
was  ungentlemanly,  but  then,  it  was  such  fun  to  see 
Lucy  frown  and  to  hear  her  say,  "  Now,  don't  I'' 
Charlie  had  yet  to  learn  to  obey  the  Saviour's  words, 
"All  things  whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should 
do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them." 


A    WORD   LEFT  OUT.  57 

On  this  afternoon  the  spirit  of  mischief  appeared 
to  have  taken  possession  of  him.  Walking  to  the 
window,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  raising  the  shade, 
he  contrived  to  draw  Lucy's  net  off  her  head. 

"0  Charlie!"  said  the  little  girl  pettishly,  "just 
see  what  you've  done." 

"  I  can't  help  it.  You  oughtn't  to  be  in  my  way, 
then ;  let  me  move  you  a  little."  And  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  this  polite  young  gentleman  at- 
tempted to  alter  the  position  of  his  sister's  chair. 

"  Charlie  Brown,  do  keep  still,  won't  you?" 

"  Oh!  yes,  I'll  keep  still,"  was  the  irritating  reply, 
and,  placing  himself  between  the  window  and  Lucy's 
book,  Charlie  remained  quiet  for  the  space  of  about 
one  minute  and  a  half.  Lucy  could  bear  the  inter- 
ruption no  longer.  "  I  do  wish  you  would  get  out 
of  my  light ;  you  know  I  want  to  study  my  lesson." 

The  only  reply  brought  forth  by  this  remark  was, 
that  Lucy's  book  was  suddenly  snatched  away  from 
her  and  carried  across  the  room.  Tne  loud  expres- 
sions of  indignation  which  followed  drew  Mrs.  Brown 
to  the  scene. 

"Charlie  I  Lucy !  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"I  was  only  trying  to  study,  and  Charlie  annoys 


58  A   iro:. 


me  every  way  he  can.  I  don't  believe  be  likes  me 
at  all." 

Charlie  was  sent  to  bis  own  room  in  disgrace.  As 
for  Lucy,  considering  her  brother  entirely  at  fault, 
and  herself  very  much  injured  and  abused,  she  was 
quite  surprised  to  find  that  her  mother  regarded  her 
with  e'vident  displeasure. 

"Come  here,  Lucy,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  her  little  girl  had  been  wonder- 
ing what  she  had  done  that  was  so  very  wrong;  "  if 
you  know  your  Sunday-school  lesson,  I  will  hear  you 
recite  it  now.  Where  is  it  ?" 

"  It  is  the  twenty-second  and  twenty-third  verses 
of  the  fifth  chapter  of  Galatians." 

"  Very  well  ;  I  have  found  it  You  may  com- 
mence." 

Lucy  began  :  "  The  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  love,  joy, 
peace,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith,  meekness,  tem- 
perance :  against  such  there  is  no  law." 

"  That  is  not  quite  correct.  You  have  omitted  a 
very  important  word  —  long-suffering.  If  you  had 
noticed  that  one  word,  and  thought  about  its  mean- 
ing, you  would  have  had  no  trouble  with  Charlie." 

"  Why,  mother,  I  don't  know  bow  I  could  have 


A    WORD   LEFT  OUT.  59 

helped  having  trouble  with  Mm.     He  was  so  pro- 
voking." 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  But  suppose  that,  instead  of  be- 
ing provoked,  you  had  shown  a  little  patience,  a  little 
forbearance ;  suppose  that  you  had  spoken  pleasantly 
to  him,  instead  of  becoming  fretted  and  angry,  do 
you  think  he  would  have  continued  to  annoy  you  ? 
I  know  he  would  not  But  even  if  he  had  done  so, 
would  it  not  still  have  been  better  to  bear  his  teasing 
with  long-suffering  than  to  act  as  you  did?  You 
would,  at  least,  have  shown  that  your  lesson  had 
been  of  some  use  to  you.  I  was  reading  this  morn- 
ing in  the  New  Testament  an  account  of  something 
that  happened  while  Jesus  was  on  earth.  He  was 
on  his  way  to  Jerusalem  to  be  crucified,  and,  coming 
to  a  village  in  Samaria,  he  sent  messengers  into  it  to 
announce  that  he  would  stop  there,  and  to  prepare 
for  his  arrival.  But  the  people  of  the  village,  who 
hated  all  Jews,  would  not  allow  him  to  enter.  The 
disciples,  James  and  John,  were  so  indignant  at  this 
treatment  of  their  Master,  that  they  wanted  to  call 
down  fire  from  heaven  to  consume  those  who  had 
acted  so  unkindly.  But  Jesus  rebuked  them,  say- 
ing, that  he  had  '  conic  not  to  destroy  men's  lives, 


60  A    WORD   LEFT  Ol 

but  to  save  them.'  lie  had  done  these  Samaritans 
no  wrong,  yet  he  bore  their  ill-treatment  patiently. 
Ought  not  we,  who  are  by  no  means  perfect  our- 
selves, to  show  forbearance  toward  one  another? 

"  Our  lives  and  all  our  blessings  are  continued  to 
us  only  through  the  long-suffering  of  God ;  yet  wo 
are  very  ready  to  find  fault  with  others  who  are  not 
greater  sinners  than  ourselves.  If  we  really  love  one 
another,  we  shall  try  not  to  be  so  quickly  angry  at 
every  little  deed  of  unkindness  or  thoughtlessness. 
'  Hatred  stirreth  up  strifes :  but  love  covereth  all  sins.' 
1  Charity  suffereth  long.'  " 


VIII. 


OGEE  MOEELY  was,  by  far,  the  best 
scholar  in  Mr.  Whitner's  school.  No 
one  of  his  classmates  could  perform  so 
rapidly  or  accurately  the  examples  in  the  "  Higher 
Arithmetic,"  or  give  so  good  a  translation  of  the 
more  difficult  passages  in  "  Caesar's  Commentaries," 
or  so  correct  an  account  of  the  principal  events  in 
ancient  history  as  he.  None  of  them  had  earned 
so  many  compliments. from  the  writing-master,  nor 
gained  so  many  prizes  for  declamation,  nor  been  so 
often  commended  for  good  deportment.  In  short,  he 
he  had  become  quite  an  object  of  admiration,  as  well 
to  himself  as  to  his  companions ;  for  Koger  was  by 
no  means  unconscious  of  his  superior  scholarship, 


.1    .  /.'}'. 

aii'l  was  fill'  "f  the  importance  to  which   it 

entitled  him.  It  had  not  been  without  effect  that 
Mr.  "Whitner  had  rq>catedly  pronounced  him  "a 
model  worthy  of  imitation ;"  and  that,  at  the  quar- 
terly examination,  Squire  Tupman  had  several  times 
patted  him  on  the  head,  saying,  "I  am  pleased  to 
hear  so  good  an  account  of  you,  Roger;"  and  that 
he  had  more  than  once  overheard  his  mother  telling 
some  of  the  neighbors  "  how  steady  and  quiet  her 
son  was — quite  unlike  other  boys;  for  he  always 
spent  his  evenings  at  home,  engaged  in  his  stu 
and  never  annoyed  her  with  teasing  or  mischief- 
making,  as  his  brother  William  had  done  ever  since 
he  was  two  years  old." 

Of  course,  it  was  not  strange  that  Roger  had  come 
to  consider  all  this  praise  as  quite  proper  and  natural, 
and  had  learned  to  expect  it  as  the  due  reward  for 
his  exemplary  conduct.  But,  one  day,  the  feeling 
of  satisfaction  with  which  he  usually  regarded  him- 
self was  suddenly  destroyed. 

It  was  a  day  in  the  month  of  December.  The 
weather  was  just  that  sort  of  weather  which  makes 
the  face  of  every  one  who  ventures  out  of  doors 
grow  unnaturally  i".-v.  and  fills  the  minds  of  <L 


A   DISCOVERY.  63 

with  anticipations  of  "glorious  fan,"  and  draws  the 
garments  of  the  poor  very  closely  around  their  shi- 
vering forms,  and  sends  suffering  and  want  into 
many  homes,  where  the  last  crust  has  been  taken 
from  the  closet  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  hunger,  and 
the  last  ember  smoking  in  the  fireplace  has  died  for 
want  of  company.  But  Roger  set  out  for  school, 
regardless  of  the  cold,  thinking  how  he  would  sur- 
prise Mr.  Whitner  and  the  boys  when  he  told  them 
that  he  had  worked  out  an  example  which  his  class- 
mates had  been  vainly  trying  to  perform,  and  carry- 
ing his  head  with  an  air  which  seemed  to  say,  "How 
far  superior  I  am  to  every  one  around  me  1" 

He  went  on  in  this  way  until  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  school-house.  A  group  of  boys  were  gathered 
around  the  door,  watching  the  approach  of  every 
new-comer. 

As  Eoger  drew  near,  he  overheard  the  remark,  ac- 
companied by  a  sneering  laugh,  "Oh!  here  comes 
the  model  scholar;  see  how  straight  he  walks!" 
"No  matter,"  said  Roger  to  himself;  but  just  as  he 
had  begun  to  think  how  he  should  have  revenge  for 
the  idle  word,  his  foot  slipped  on  the  icy  pavement, 
and  down  he  fell  to  the  ground.  Such  a  laugh  as 


C4  A    DISCO  VKliY. 

from  the  group  at  the  door  I  It  was  much 
harder  to  bear  than  the  fall.  Roger  thought  he  was 
justified  in  being  cross  all  day. 

"Roger,"  said  Willie  Smith,  at  recess,  "will  you 
please  help  me  a  little  with  this  Latin  sentence  ?  I 
puzzled  over  it  last  night  for  half  an  hour  or  more." 

"  Get  your  own  Latin  sentence,"  was  the  amiable 
reply;  "I  have  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  learn  my 
own  lessons,  without  troubling  myself  about  other 
people's." 

Willie  turned  away  with  a  disappointed  air,  and 
Roger  went  to  his  seat  whistling  and  feeling — happy 
and  contented,  do  you  suppose  ?  Far  from  it ;  feel- 
ing just  as  miserable  as  it  is  possible  for  a  boy  to  be. 

For  once,  he  was  actually  dissatisfied  with  himself. 
Yet,  when  the  bell  rang,  he  caught  up  his  arithmetic 
with  eagerness,  and  went  to  the  recitation,  thinking 
that  the  time  to  avenge  himself  had  come.  But 
when  he  began  to  explain  the  difficult  problem,  great 
was  his  mortification  to  find  that  the  secret  trouble 
in  his  mind  had  banished  all  other  thoughts,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  confess  himself  unable  to  perform  the 
example.  Roger  would  much  rather  have  fallen 
upon  the  sidewalk  a  dozen  times  than  thus  to  fall  in 


A   DISCOVERT.  65 

the  estimation  of  his  schoolmates,  and  in  his  own  as 
well.  But  what  was  done  could  not  be  helped,  he 
reasoned ;  and  being  determined  to  conceal  his  dis- 
appointment as  much  as  possible,  after  school  was 
dismissed  he  started  for  the  skating-pond,  according 
to  an  agreement  made  with  his  comrades  the  day  be- 
fore. But  in  some  places  the  ice  was  rough,  and  in 
others  there  were  wide  cracks,  and  to  Eoger  the 
rough  parts  seemed  rougher,  and  the  cracks  wider 
than  to  any  of  his  companions.  Perhaps  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  cold,  probably  it  was  because  that,  not 
being  on  good  terms  with  the  other  boys,  they  bad 
left  him  to  enjoy  his  own  society,  which,  on  this  par- 
ticular day,  was  not  the  pleasantest  imaginable. 
But,  whatever  may  have  been  the  cause  of  so  un- 
usual an  occurrence,  Roger  soon  pulled  off  his  skates 
and  went  home,  having  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  was  useless  for  him  to  endeavor  to  be  happy  when 
no  one  treated  him  with  kindness  or  politeness.  Yet, 
he  could  not  have  complained  of  the  want  of  either 
when  his  sister  Ella  met  him  at  the  door,  and  offered 
to  put  away  his  hat  and  gloves. 

"Get  out  of  my  way,  will  you?    Don't  keep  me 
standing  here  in  the  cold." 


66  A   i  ;:Y. 

Ella  opened  her  blu*  :y  \vi<le  indeed  at  the 

unexpected  salutation,  but  said  nothing.  Her  for- 
bearance only  irritated  her  brother  the  more,  and  he 
was  just  upon  the  point  of  saying  something  still  more 
ungentlemanly  than  the  previous  remark,  when,  sud- 
denly recollecting  himself,  he  turned,  with  a  genuine 
blush  of  shame,  and  rushed  up-stairs  to  his  own 
room. 

Ho  was  thoroughly  and  utterly  unhappy,  at  peace 
neither  with  himself  nor  with  any  one  else.  Roger 
threw  himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  actually  cried  him- 
self to  sleep.  As  he  slept,  he  dreamed  that  he  was 
at  the  foot  of  a  high  mountain,  the  sides  of  which 
were  covered  with  groves  of  flowering  trees.  All 
around  him  were  a  multitude  of  men,  women,  and 
children ;  some  of  them  disputing  with  their  neigh- 
bors, some  finding  fault  with  their  condition,  others 
apparently  enraged  at  their  own  misdoings,  but  all, 
undoubtedly,  the  victims  of  angry  passion.  A 
them,  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain,  might  be  seen 
another  assembly,  fewer  in  number  and  more  orderly 
in  appearance.  All  of  this  group  were  so  evidently 
in  a  state  of  enjoyment,  some  of  them  conver 
with  their  companions,  others  sitting  quietly  in  the 


A   DISCOVERT.  67 

shade  of  the  overhanging  branches  of  the  trees,  or 
seeking  shelter  from  the  heat  beneath  some  over- 
hanging rock,  that  Eoger  determined  to  join  them. 
But  upon  reaching  a  gateway  through  which  it  was 
necessary  to  pass,  he  found  it  closed  and  locked,  and 
upon  it  this  inscription : 

"  This  road  to  the  Mountain  of  Peace  doth  lead : 
Whoe'er  would  tread  it  must  now  give  heed 

To  the  words  that  are  written  hereon : 
Seek  peace  with  your  God,  with  yourself,  and  witli  men, 
Lest  haply  your  striving  be  all  in  vain 
To  reach  the  mountain  beyond." 

Koger  was  just  beginning  to  consider  how  he 
should  follow  these  directions,  when  suddenly  he 
awoke.  His  dream  had  passed,  as  dreams  do ;  but 
the  lesson  it  taught  him  remained. 

Only  those  who  have  been  reconciled  to  God 
through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  can  possess  that 
"peace  which  passeth  all  understanding."  "The 
works  of  the  flesh  are  anger,  wrath,  strife ;  but  the 
fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  peace." 


IX. 


OME,  boys,  let's  go  and  rest  awhile.  I 
think  it's  too  warm  to  play ;  don't 
you?" 

So  said  Henry  Rivers  to  the  friends  who  had  come 
to  spend  Saturday  afternoon  with  him. 

"  I  do."     "  Yes."     "  A  great  deal." 

The  three  answers  being  given  immediately  and 
all  together,  Henry  was  assured  that  the  party  were 
of  but  one  opinion,  and  accordingly  led  the  way  to 
the  library,  where,  as  he  said,  it  was  always  cool. 
The  others — Charles  Harker,  James  Contrell,  and 
Hubert  Gray — followed.  They  entered  rather  un- 
ceremoniously, and  were  somewhat  surprised  at  find- 
ing the  room  already  occupied. 

"  Come  in,  boys,  come  in  I    Glad  to  see  you.    Sit 


UNCLE  DENNIS  AND    THE  BOYS.  69 

down  and  amuse  yourselves  just  as  if  I  were  not 
here." 

Uncle  Dennis  spoke  so  pleasantly  that  the  boys 
easily  regained  their  composure,  and,  seating  them- 
selves, began  a  lively  conversation.  They  talked 
about  this  thing  and  that;  about  what  they  had 
seen  and  what  they  had  heard ;  about  what  they 
had  done,  what  they  meant  to  do,  and  what  they  in- 
tended to  be.  The  last  topic  engaged  them  longest. 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  what  they  wanted 
to  make  of  themselves. 

"  I,"  said  Hubert,  "  intend  to  be  a  sailor — a  sea- 
captain,  as  my  father  is.  I  should  like  to  travel 
around  the  world;  to  see  the  British  Isles,  and 
France,  and  Spain,  and  Italy;  to  double  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  and  sail  over  the  Indian  Ocean  ;  to 
see  for  myself  how  people  drink  tea  in  China,  and 
whether  our  antipodes  that  Professor  Dunton  talks 
so  much  about  are  not  really  in  danger  of  falling  off 
the  earth.  When  I  had  been  long  enough  in  the 
East,  I  would  just  cross  the  Pacific  and  come  back 
again  to  the  Western  Continent.  Then,  perhaps,  I 
would  sail  up  toward  the  North  Pole  and  find  out 
what  became  of  Sir  John  Franklin.  After  that,  I 


70          CTA  Y.Y/X  .i.v//   77//;  BOYS. 

would  come  home  to  tell  travelers'  stories,  and  rest 
•'.fd  with   my  laurels.      Wouldn't  that  Vxj  fine 
inn,  boys?  and  would  not  you  like  to  take  passage 
in  my  vessel?" 

•  yes,"  answered  Charles,  ".I  should  be  delighted 
to  go  with  you;  but  the  trouble  is,  that  it  would  re- 
quire too  much  time.  For  my  part,  I  am  determined 
to  be  rieh.  I  intend  to  be  a  merchant-prince,  and  to 
make  myself  the  owner  of  millions  of  money,  and  a 
great  many  houses  and  land.  Then  I  will  live  in 
a  palace,  and  have  horses  and  carriages,  and  many 
servants.  Of  course,  every  body  will  respect  my 
opinion,  and  bow  to  me  most  politely ;  and  alto- 
gether I  shall  have  a  very  pleasant  time." 

"  Well,"  said  James,  "  when  you  have  made  your 
fortune,  I  hope  you  will  expend  a  part  of  it  in  pur- 
chasing me  a  fine,  large  library,  for  I  hope  to  be- 
come a  scholar.     I  should  like  to  be  able  to  under- 
1  a  great  many  languages,  in  order  to  read  the 
best  books  that  have  been  written  in  them  all ;  and 
ups  some  day  I  shall  be  James  Coutrell,  LL.l  >., 
author  of   a  number  of   learned    treatises.      But, 
Henry,  in  what  direction  do  you  mean  to  travel 
in  this  voyage  of  life?" 


UNCLE  DENNIS  AND    THE  BOYS.  71 

"  Ob !  I  don't  know  exactly ;  but  I  think  it  would 
be  nice  to  be  somebody  great.  I  expect  to  do  some- 
thing or  another  that  will  make  every  one  talk  about 
me,  and  fill  the  newspapers  with  my  praises,  and 
draw  crowds  of  people  after  me  wherever  I  go. 
Then,  when  I  had  made  myself  famous,  I  would  be 
nominated  for  President,  and,  if  I  were  elected,  I 
should  give  each  of  you  a  place  in  my  Cabinet. 
Now,  tell  me  if  I  am  not  more  generous  than  any 
of  you?" 

The  boys  smiled  rather  provokingly ;  but  just  then 
they  observed  that  Uncle  Dennis,  whom  they  had 
supposed  to  be  engaged  in  reading,  was  watching 
them  with  an  appearance  of  interest,  so  they  kept 
silence.  The  old  gentleman  laid  aside  his  book, 
raised  his  spectacles  to  his  forehead,  folded  his  arms 
slowly,  and  said  in  a  tone  that  invited  confidence  : 

"  Well,  my  young  friends,  I  can  think  of  some- 
thing better  for  each  of  you  than  to  become  such 
men  as  you  have  been  describing." 

"What  is  that,  sir?"  asked  Charles. 

"  It  is  that  you  should  be  Christians.  Suppose, 
Hubert,  that,  when  you  are  grown  up,  you  should 
become  even  a  greater  traveler  than  you  ever  dream 


!  \\rjj;  v;>    THE   B» 

of  now.  Suppose  that  you  should  visit  every  city 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  voyage  from  the  South 
Pole  to  the  North,  in  what  place  could  you  expect 
to  find  happiness  if  you  did  not  carry  in  your  own 
heart  'the  peace  that  passeth  all  understanding'? 
And  you,  Charles,  if  you  should  be  permitted  to  be- 
come the  possessor  of  untold  weights  of  gold  and 
silver,  could  your  money  purchase  the  favor  of  God, 
or  secure  the  salvation  of  your  soul  ?  I  need  not  re- 
mind James  that  all  worldly  knowledge  is  unsat 
ing,  and  not  to  be  compared  with  the  '  wisdom  that 
cometh  from  above ;'  and  I  hope  that  Henry,  in  his 
visions  of  future  greatness,  will  not  forget  the  lines 
of  the  poem  he  read  to  me  last  evening : 

'  The  boast  of  pageantry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour  : 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  bat  to  the  grave.' 

'  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity,'  said  one  who  had 
experienced  more  than  most  others  of  earthly  joy ; 
but,  believe  me,  boys,  '  happy  is  he  whose  transgres- 
sion is  covered,  whose  sin  is  forgiven.'  But  I  sup- 
pose you  all  mean  to  seek  religion  at  some  time,  do 
you  not  ?'' 


UNCLE  DENNIS  AND    THE  BOYS.  73 

The  boys  nodded  assent. 

"  Then  all  I  have  to  say  to  you  is,  do  not  delay, 
for  it  is  dangerous.  I  remember  reading  that  once, 
a  great  many  years  ago,  one  of  the  dikes  of  Holland 
was  in  need  of  repair.  You  know  what  the  dikes 
are  ;  they  are  very  large  banks,  composed  of  earth, 
clay,  and  stone,  that  have  been  built  in  order  to  pre- 
vent the  sea  from  overflowing  the  country,  which  is 
low  and  flat.  Well,  there  was  a  small  hole  in  one 
of  these  dikes  ;  the  water  came  oozing  through 
slowly,  and  the  people,  knowing  that  this  was  a 
sign  of  danger,  held  a  meeting  to  consider  what  was 
best  to  be  done.  But  they  concluded  that  they 
would  not  be  in  a  hurry  about  repairing  the  in- 
jury;  it  was  a  small  one,  perhaps  only  the  work  of 
a  water-rat ;  some  future  time  would  do  as  well  as 
the  present.  This  procrastination  was  their  ruin. 
While  they  delayed,  the  dike  grew  gradually  weak- 
er and  weaker ;  and  one  bright  Sabbath  evening  the 
sea  burst  suddenly  upon  them,  overwhelming  many 
towns  and  ninety  villages,  and  destroying  a  hundred 
thousand  of  the  inhabitants.  These  Hollanders  were 
very  foolish,  you  say;  and  so  they  were.  But  they 
were  not  more  foolish  than  you  will  be  if  you  put 


•  1          U2f>  -  A.\n  Tin:  00] 

off  obtaining  the  forgiveness  of  your  sins.  You  arc 
young  now,  ami  death  and  judgment  may  seem  a 
i  way  off.  But  they  may  be  nearer  than  you 
think.  Listen  now  to  the  invitations  of  mercy,  lest 
you  should  some  time  experience  the  truth  of  this 
terrible  threatening :  '  Because  I  have  called,  and  ye 
refused,  I  also  will  laugh  at  your  calamity;  I  will 
mock  when  your  fear  cometh  ;  when  your  fear  com- 
eth  as  desolation,  and  your  destruction  cometh  as  a 
whirlwind  ;  when  distress  and  anguish  cometh  upon 
you.'  If  you  want  to  be  saved  at  last,  be  Christians 
now" 


X. 


ING- — ding — ding !     It  was  time  for  school 
to  be  dismissed.    Books  were  neatly  piled 
together,  slates  hurried  into  the  desks, 
sponges  and  pen-wipers  put  in  their  places. 

"  Those  who  have  not  whispered  to-day  and  who 
have  recited  their  lessons  perfectly  may  arisa  I"  Fif 
teen  boys  and  as  many  little  girls  arose  from  their 
seats.  Miss  Crayton  began  to  call  their  names.  As 
they  passed  out  of  the  school-room,  each  one  received 
a  card  with  the  word  "  Perfect "  printed  upon  it 

In  the  class  of  honor  for  the  day  were  a  brother 
and  sister — George  and  Lillie  Eaymond.  Their 
home  was  more  than  a  mile  distant;  so,  without 
stopping  to  talk  or  play  with  the  others,  they  started 


76  Till  ?0    WAT. 

iinni  'ii  their  return.  As  they  walked  along, 

Lillie  held  her  card  in  her  hun<l,  and  appeared  to 
take  pleasure  in  looking  at  it;  but  George  had  thrust 
his  into  his  pocket,  as  though  he  were  ashamed  of 
being  its  possessor.  Lillie  hummed  a  cheerful  tune, 
but  her  brother  was  silent.  Pretty  soon  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Lillie,  what  do  you  see  in  that  card  that 
is  so  very  attractive  ?  Any  one  would  suppose  that 
you  had  never  had  one  before." 

"  Oh !  I  was  just  thinking  how  pleased  mother 
would  be  to  know  that  we  had  both  been  perfect  to- 
day." 

"  "Well,  the  cards  won't  make  her  know  that  All 
that  they  do  is  to  help  us  get  out  of  school  early. 
After  we're  once  dismissed,  they're  good  for  nothing, 
that  I  know  of." 

"They  show,  at  least,  that  we  have  tried  to  do 
what  is  right ;  that  is,  if  we  have  been  honest  about 
our  report  But,  George,  I  thought  I  saw  you  whis- 
pering to-day." 

"  Well,  what  if  you  did  ?    Miss  Crayton  didn't." 

"Why,  George,  I  didn't  think  you  would  de- 
ceive 1" 

"That  isn't  deceiving;    it's  only  whispering.     I 


THE  WRONG    WAT.  77 

don't  mind  talking,  or  writing  notes  either,  if  I'm 
sure  that  I  won't  be  caught." 

"Well,  I  think  it's  very  dishonest.  It  seems  to 
me  like  telling  a  story  to  break  the  rules  whenever 
you  have  a  chance,  and  then  to  report  that  you  have 
been  perfect." 

"  Why,  I  don't  say  any  thing — I  only  stand  up. 
Standing  up  isn't  telling  a  story." 

"  But,  you  know,  mother  says  we  can  act  an  un- 
truth as  well  as  speak  it,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
what  you  did  was  acting  an  untruth.  Don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

George  knew  very  well  that  he  was  wrong  and  his 
sister  right,  but  he  was  unwilling  to  acknowledge 
this;  so  he  answered  with  an  expression  of  con- 
tempt, intended  to  silence  both  his  sister  and  his  con- 
science :  "  Oh !  how  particular  you  girls  are.  What 
would  have  been  the  use  of  my  staying  in  that  hot 
room  another  half-hour  just  for  the  sake  of  being  as 
precise  as  a  Puritan  ?  It  wouldn't  have  done  Miss 
Crayton  any  good,  nor  myself  either." 

"But  are  you  sure  that  it  did  you  no  harm  to 
come  away  ?" 

"  Harm !      I  should  think  not.      Fresh  air  .is 


78  TIL  i  r. 

healthier  than  impure  air  for  a  fellow  to  breathe  I" 

And  George  laughed  at  what  he  considered  his  wit. 
"Oh!  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Lillie,  with  a 

look  of  perplexity  on  her  face,  "  only  you  pr« 

not  to  understand  me.     Are  you  sure  that  it  did  no 

harm  to  your  character?" 

"  Well,  I  guess  my  character  won't  suffer.     I'm 

as  honest  as  the  rest  of  the  boys.     They  cheat,  too, 

when  they  can." 

"  But  that  doesn't  make  it  right  for  you  to  ch> 
"  Well,  I'll  you  what  I  think     I  think  you  ought 

to  be  a  Methodist  preacher ;  the  way  you  do  corner 

a  fellow  is  terrible.    I  suppose  I  may  as  well  plead 

guilty." 

"Then,  you  won't  do  so  again,  will  you,  George?" 
u  No ;  not  unless  it  happens  to  be  convenient." 
"  But  I'm  afraid  that  it  will  be  convenient,  and  I 

know  it  always  will  be  wrong ;  so  promise  mo  now, 

won't  you?" 

"  Well,  yes ;  I'll  promise,  if  you  won't  lecture  me 

any  more." 

The  remainder  of  the  walk  was  spent  in  pleasant 

conversation  upon  various  subjects,  and,  on  reaching 

home,  the  children  found  their  mother  watching  for 


THE  WRONG   WAY.  79 

them  at  the  gate.  Lillie  held  up  her  card  trium- 
phantly, but  George  only  gave  a  contemptuous  grunt, 
and  turned  away  with  an  air  that  seemed  to  say,* 
"  Such  trifles  may  do  very  well  to  amuse  girls  and 
babies ;  but  we  boys  are  entirely  too  large  to  care  for 
any  thing  of  the  sort." 

Lillie  took  no  notice  of  his  sneering  manner ;  but 
the  next  morning,  as  the  two  approached  the  school- 
house,  she  said  warningly,  "  George,  don't  forget 
your  promise." 

The  only  reply  was  a  prolonged  whistle,  which,  to 
say  the  least,  sounded  rather  dubious ;  but  the  pair 
of  bright  eyes  that,  from  the  girls'  side  of  the  room, 
kept  watch  all  day  upon  a  particular  desk  on  the 
boys'  side  failed  to  detect  any  thing  but  what  was 
most  exemplary  in  Master  Raymond's  deportment. 
Of  course,  he  never  said  so ;  but  as  this  good  con- 
duct continued  for  days,  weeks,  months,  and  even 
years,  Lillie  inferred  that  her  brother  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  honorable  course  was  the 
manly  one,  and  that,  upon  the  whole,  it  would  be 
the  better  plan  for  him  to  pursue. 

But  it  may  be  that  there  are  other  boys  and,  per- 
haps, some  girls,  who  think  as  George  did,  that  it  is 


t>0  777.'  -     H. !  )• 

no  harm  to  do  a  little  wrong  if  they  can  do  it  with- 
out being  seen. 

If  they  break  the  rules  in  school,  or  disobey  their 
parents  at  home,  and  succeed  in  concealing  the  act, 
they  imagine  that  they  have  been  very  cunning  in- 
deed— have  done  something  to  boast  of  rather  than 
to  be  sorry  for.  To  judge  from  their  behavior,  one 
would  imagine  that  they  had  been  brought  up  in  an- 
cient Sparta,  where  children  were  taught  by  their 
parents  to  commit  theft,  and  were  punished  if  dis- 
covered. 

But  they  would  not  steal,  these  American  boys 
and  girls — they  are  entirely  too  respectable  for  that. 
Oh !  no.  They  would  not  steal  now,  certainly  not ; 
but  they  will  tell  what  they  call  a  fib,  or  a  white  lie, 
when  they  are  accused  of  doing  a  wrong.  They  will 
accustom  themselves  to  twisting  the  truth  and  mak- 
ing it  appear  very  different  from  what  it  is,  and,  after 
a  while,  they  will  begin — not  to  steal — but  to  take 
little  things  that  no  one  will  miss.  And  then,  once 
having  begun,  where  will  they  end?  How  long 
will  it  be  before  they  will  take  things  of  greater 
value — before  they  will  find  themselves  on  the  high 
road  to  disgrace  and  misery?  Beware  of  trifling 


THE  WRONG   WAT. 


81 


with  the  truth.  "  It  is  the  first  wrong  step  that 
costs ;"  that  once  taken,  the  others  are  all  too  easy. 
Love  honesty ;  not  because  it  is  the  best  policy,  but 
because  it  is  right  and  good  and  safe 


XI. 


to 


LL  is  not  gold  that  glitters,"  says  the 
proverb,  and  every  one  knows  that  the 
proverb  is  true.  Especially  nowadays, 
when  brass  jewelry  is  made  to  resemble  that  of 
purer  metal ;  when  diamonds  are  made  of  paste,  and 
flower-gardens  of  muslin  and  paper;  when  it  is  hard 
to  tell  whether  a  lady's  ringlets  are  curled  by  the 
hand  of  nature  or  of  the  hair-dresser,  and  whether 
our  morning's  beverage  is  composed  of  coffee  or 
chiccory — it  is  very  difficult,  indeed,  to  distinguish 
the  false  from  the  true,  the  natural  from  the  artificial. 
But  even  before  the  era  of  Yankee  invention  decep- 
tion was  by  no  means  an  unknown  thing.  More 
than  two  thousand  years  ago,  David  "said  in  his 


WHOM  TO   BELIEVE.  83 

haste  that  all  men  were  liars;"  and,  long  before  his 
time,  Paradise  was  lost  in  consequence  of  a  false- 
hood. Ever  since  the  fall,  the  leaves  of  the  rose  have 
concealed  the  thorn ;  ever  since  the  days  of  the  first 
murderer,  men  have  attempted  to  deceive  not  only 
one  another,  but  even  themselves  and  their  Maker. 
They  have  been  too  ready  to  believe  as  well  as  to 
teach  that  which  is  untrue;  too  willing  to  receive 
the  doctrines  of  the  ignorant  or  cunning,  rather  than 
the  words  of  those  who  speak  the  truth  in  the  love 
of  it.  In  every  age  there  have  been  many  who  have 
preferred  to  reverence  false  gods  of  man's  device 
rather  than  the  Lord  who  made  the  heavens.  Not 
only  during  the  old  dispensation  was  it  possible  that 
the  chosen  people  could  leave  the  worship  of  Jeho- 
vah to  bow  before  a  golden  calf;  but,  strangely 
enough,  ever  since  the  time  when  He  who  was  "  the 
brightness  of  the  Father's  glory,  and  the  express 
image  of  his  person  declared"  to  us  "  the  only  name 
whereby  we  can  be  saved,"  there  have  been  multi- 
tudes always  eager  to  follow  the  "  false  Christs"  and 
"false  prophets"  whom  he  foretold  should  come  and 
should  "deceive  many."  One  of  the  most  notable 
of  these  prophets  was  Mohammed,  or,  as  his  name  is 


84  W/IOM   TO  /;/:/.  //.  i 

sometimes  written,  Mahomet,  a  word  signifying  tfte 
Praised.  He  lived  about  thirteen  hundred  years  ago, 
in  Arabia.  Ilia  birthplace  v,.  ty  of  Mecca. 

While  he  was  yet  very  young,  his  parents  died,  and 
he  was  left  to  the  care  first  of  his  grandfather, 
of  an  uncle.      Much  of  Arabia,  as  is  well  known,  is 
a  vast  desert;  and  the  merchants  who  wish  to  < 
it  with  their  goods  are  accustomed  to  travel  in  ; 
companies,  called  caravans.    In  one  of  these 
vans  Mohammed  and  his  uncle  went  with  some  mer- 
chandise to  Syria.   There  the  boy  learned  something 
of  the  Jewish  and,  perhaps,  of  the  Christian  reli- 
gion.    Before,  he  had  known  only  the  worship  of  his 
own  people,  who  were  idolaters,  adoring  the  in. 
of  men,  eagles,  lions,  antelopes,  and  other  animals, 
as  well  as  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars.   Some  time  after 
his  return  to  his  own  country,  he  married  a  wealthy 
widow,  whose  property  relieved  him  from  the  neces- 
sity of  being  compelled  to  exert  himself  for  a  sup- 
port.    He  lived  in  ease,  part  of  the  time  in  solitude, 
until  he  reached  the  age  of  forty,  when  he  first  an- 
nounced himself  as  the  founder  of  a  new  religion. 
He  taught  the  people  the  to  them  before  unknown 
truth  that  there  is  but  one  God,  the  Maker  of  h« 


WHOM   TO   BELIEVE.  85 

.  and  earth  ;  but  he  also  taught  (whether  he  believed 
it  himself  is  uncertain)  that  he  was  a  prophet  of  the 
Most  High.  His  creed,  which  he  said  had  been  re- 
vealed to  him  by  the  angel  Gabriel,  is  contained  in 
these  few  words :  "  There  is  no  God  but  God,  and 
Mohammed  is  his  prophet." 

He  at  first  made  few  converts  and  many  enemies ; 
but  by  dint  of  deceiving  his  disciples  with  wonderful 
accounts  of  visions  and  revelations  with  which  he 
pretended  to  have  been  favored,  and  of  promising 
everlasting  happiness  to  those  who  believed  on  him 
and  eternal  misery  to  those  who  did  not,  he  soon 
persuaded  many  to  embrace  his  cause.  Those  who 
were  not  convinced  by  persuasion  were  conquered  by 
the  sword,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  Moham- 
med became  master  of  the  whole  of  Arabia.  Though 
calling  himself  a  priest  of  God,  he  was  polluted  with 
the  guilt  of  many  murders,  having  killed,  at  one 
time,  between  six  and  seven  hundred  Jews,  who 
were  unfortunate  enough  to  have  fallen  into  his 
hands.  Beside  this,  he  committed  other  crimes, 
which  he  taught  the  people  would  be  wrong  for 
them,  but  for  him  were  right  and  proper.  He  com- 
posed a  book  called  the  Koran,  in  which  he  said  that 


86  WHOM   TO    Hi:i.lK\ 

prayer,  fasting,  charity,  and  making  pilgrimages  to  • 
his  birthplace,  Mecca,  were  the  four  principal  duties 
of  man.  This  book  is  the  Bible  of  the  Mohammed- 
ans, and  is  about  equal  in  size  to  the  New  Testa- 
ment Those  who  believe  in  its  teachings  consider 
its  author  as  the  greatest  of  prophets — greater  even 
than  Him  whom  we  adore  as  our  prophet,  priest,  and 
king.  The  reverence  with  which  they  regard  him  is 
almost  incredible ;  and  during  his  lifetime,  even  the 
hairs  which  fell  from  his  head  were  considered  holy. 
II'-  «licd  at  the  age  of  sixty -three  in  the  city  of  Me- 
dina, leaving  multitudes  of  the  faithful  to  mourn  his 
loss  and  cherish  his  memory.  There  are  now  sup- 
posed to  be,  in  different  parts  of  the  Eastern  conti- 
nent, at  least  one  hundred  and  sixty  millions  who 
are  followers  of  the  false  prophet.  Is  it  not  strange 
that  men  will  turn  away  from  Him  who  is  "  the  way, 
the  truth,  and  the  life  "  to  worship  one,  sinful  like 
themselves,  whose  words  were  filled  with  deceit,  and 
whose  promises  of  either  present  or  future  happiness 
were  unworthy  to  be  trusted  ? 

But  so  it  is.  They  are  ever  too  ready  to  forsake 
the  truth  and  believe  a  lie ;  to  obey  the  words  of  an 
artful  and  ambitious  mortal  rather  than  the  voice  of 


WHOM  TO   BELIEVE.  87 

"  him  that  spealceth  from  heaven."  They  are  will- 
ing to  make  pilgrimages  to  Mecca,  or  Jerusalem,  or 
Eome,  but  not  to  walk  in  the  narrow  path  that  leads 
to  life.  They  will  give  their  bodies  to  be  burned, 
and  bestow  all  their  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  in  order 
to  purchase  heaven  by  their  own  good  works ;  but 
they  will  not  confide  in  Him  who  died  for  the  sins  of 
the  whole  world.  Why  is  it  that  they  persist  in 
trusting  any  one  or  any  thing  rather  than  Christ? 
Why  is  it  that  they  will  follow  all  the  false  guides 
of  earth,  and  resolutely  shut  their  eyes  upon  the  Sun 
of  Bighteousness  ?  Eeader,  beware !  "  He  that  be- 
lieveth  in  him  shall  be  saved ;  but  he  that  believeth 
not  is  condemned  already." 


\u. 


LONG  time  ago,  there  stood  on  the 
northern  coast  of  Africa  a  strong  and 
powerful  city.  It  was  built  more  than 
eight  hundred  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ  by 
Queen  Dido,  who,  having  been  obliged  to  fly  from 
her  native  country,  Phoenicia,  in  Asia,  sailed  with  a 
few  followers  and  vast  treasures  in  search  of  a  new 
home  and  kingdom.  Arriving  in  Africa,  she  pur- 
chased from  the  natives  a  spot  of  ground,  and  then 
commencing  to  build  houses  and  walls  around  and 
upon  it,  called  the  place  Carthage,  or  the  New  City. 
By  degrees  the  colony  increased  until  it  became  a 
great  nation,  ruling  not  only  in  its  own  country  but 
also  in  various  parts  of  Europe;  disputing  for  em- 


THE  DARKNESS  AND    THE  LIGHT.          89 

pire  with,  the  Komans,  the  most  powerful  people  of 
the  age,  and  sending  its  merchant-vessels  in  every 
direction  throughout  the  then  known  world. 

Yet  the  Carthaginians  were  ignorant  and  wicked. 
They  knew  little  of  books,  or  music,  or  painting, 
and  their  only  aim  was  to  make  money — to  become 
rich — whether  by  good  means  or  bad.  Their  deceit- 
fulness  at  length  became  a  proverb,  so  common 
among  them  were  falsehood  and  treachery.  But 
this  is  not  at  all  wonderful ;  for  these  people  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  true  God,  nor  of  the  Bible,  the 
word  of  life.  They  worshiped  the  woods,  the  mea- 
dows, and  the  streams,  the  sun  and  the  stars,  beside 
many  gods  of  the  other  heathen  nations  around 
them.  But  the  two  divinities  whom  they  most  hon- 
ored were  Urania,  or  the  moon,  to  whom  they  were 
accustomed  to  pray  for  rain ;  and  Saturn,  or,  as  he  is 
called  in  the  Bible,  Moloch,  whose  worship  Queen 
Dido  and  her  followers  had  brought  with  them  from 
Phoenicia.  This  last  god  was  a  most  terrible  one. 
The  people  did  not  think  of  him  at  all  as  we  think 
of  our  kind  Father  in  heaven,  who  will  not  let  a 
sparrow  fall  to  the  ground  without  his  notice,  who 
cares  for  all  his  creatures,  and  who  loved  us  so  ex- 


90  THE    yM/.'A'.VAX*    A.\JJ    Till:    Lit  HIT. 

cccdingly  that  he  sent  his  Son  to  die  for  our  salva- 
tion. 

No ;  their  Moloch  was  a  terrible  monster,  -who,  if 
they  failed  to  please  him,  would  punish  them  most 
rely,  and  to  whom  they  must  yield,  without  a 
murmur,  their  dearest  earthly  possessions.  For  what, 
do  you  suppose,  were  the  sacrifices  which  were  offer- 
ed to  this  cruel  god?  What  but  little  children,  whom 
their  own  fathers  and  mothers  suffered  to  be  burned 
before  their  eyes  1  In  times  of  danger  even  kings 
thus  sacrificed  their  sons ;  and  the  people,  imitating 
their  example,  if  they  had  no  children  of  their  own, 
purchased  them  of  others,  that,  by  the  murder  of 
these  innocent  victims,  they  might  procure  the  fuvor 
of  their  god.  Before  the  appointed  day  for  one  of 
their  great  festivals,  a  huge  brazen  statue  was  made, 
having  the  body  of  a  man,  the  head  of  an  ox,  and 
containing  in  the  lower  part  the  fire  which  was  to 
consume  the  offerings.  Besides,  the  image  had  large, 
spreading  arms,  in  which,  when  the  time  of  the  sa- 
crifice had  come,  mothers  laid  their  babes  without  a 
und  then  endeavored  to  soothe  their  fear  as  they 
fell  into  the  flames  beneath ;  while  the  priests  of  this 
terrible  religion  endeavored,  with  songs  and  instru- 


THE  DARKNESS  AND    THE  LIGHT.          91 

ments  of  music,  to  drown  the  cries  of  the  sufferers. 
In  later  times  parents,  scarcely  less  inhuman,  con- 
tented themselves  with  causing  their  children  merely 
to  pass  through  the  fire,  but  even  then  few  escaped 
death. 

Surely  this  was  a  strange  sort  of  worship;  and 
yet  Moloch  was  not  the  only  god  of  ancient  times  to 
whom  offerings  so  cruel  were  presented ;  for,  at  the 
time  when  Carthage  flourished,  there  lived  in  the 
country  from  which  many  of  our  forefathers  came — 
in  England,  the  land  now  filled  with  those  who  know 
and  love  the  story  of  Christ  and  his  cross — a  savage 
race  of  men,  even  more  rude  and  ignorant  than  the 
Carthaginians  themselvea  Though  they  adored  but 
one  God,  the  Maker  of  all  things,  they  regarded  him 
only  with  awe ;  for  his  pity  toward  his  creatures  was 
to  them  an  unknown  thing.  They  worshiped  in 
large  temples,  built  of  massive  stone  in  the  midst  of 
the  forest.  Their  priests  were  called  Druids.  They 
governed  the  people  not  only  in  religion  but  in  all 
other  affairs,  and  by  threats  of  punishment  after 
death  in  case  of  disobedience,  succeeded  in  securing 
obedience  to  their  commands.  Of  course,  it  was  not 
difficult  for  them  to  cause  such  offerings  as  they 


92  TllK    DARKNESS  AXD    THE    1.1' HIT. 

pleased  to  be  presented  to  their  god,  and,  like  the 
inhabitants  of  Carthage,  they  selected  human  sacri- 
fices, believing  these  most  acceptable  to  the  deity. 

Imagine  yourself  in  one  of  the  English  forests  on 
a  holy  day  of  long  ago.  The  uncovered  temple,  sur- 
rounded by  numberless  majestic  oaks,  is  entered  by 
a  company  of  venerable  men,  clad  in  long,  white 
garments,  wearing  beards  which  reach  even  to  their 
girdles,  their  whole  aspect  one  of  conscious  dignity. 
They  are  attended  by  a  motley  crowd  of  their  disci- 
ples, every  face  lighted  with  a  glow  of  savage  anti- 
cipation. The  eyes  of  all  are  directed  toward  the 
altar  on  which  the  fires  of  sacrifice  are  to  be  kindled. 
But  it  is  a  very  strange  altar,  indeed ;  built  neither 
of  timber  nor  stone,  but  of  ozier  twigs,  and  its  form 
is  in  the  image  of  a  man.  Soon  the  victims  are  led 
forth  and  placed,  one  by  one,  in  the  huge  basket. 
They  are  mostly  men  and  women  who  are  thus  to  be 
punished  for  their  crimes ;  but  here  and  there  among 
them  may  be  seen  little  children  who  are  to  be 
packed  into  the  spaces  too  small  to  be  filled  by  those 
of  larger  growth.  When  all  is  ready,  the  signal  is 
given,  and  the  high-priest,  advancing  with  a  lighted 
torch,  sets  fire  to  this  costly  funeral  pile ;  and  then, 


THE  DAEKNESS  AND    THE  LIGHT.          93 

while  the  flames  ascend  heavenward,  sings  songs  of 
barbaric  praise  to  the  unknown  god,  who  is  thus  ig- 
norantly  worshiped.  Ought  we  not,  indeed,  to  be 
thankful  that  the  day  of  this  darkness  is  past,  that 
He  who  is  "the  true  light  which  lighteth  every  man 
that  cometh  into  the  world  "  has  given  us  his  gospel 
to  show  unto  us  "a  more  excellent  way"?  We 
adore,  not  as  did  our  heathen  forefathers,  a  cruel  and 
pitiless  judge,  but  a  God  whose  compassion  is  in- 
finite. No  need  have  we  to  offer  sacrifices  on  ac- 
count of  our  guilt;  for  Christ  has  become  "the  pro- 
pitiation for  our  sins ;  and  not  for  ours  only,  but  also 
for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world."  Parents  no  longer 
give  their  children  to  be  burned  in  order  thus  to  win 
the  favor  of  Heaven;  but,  dedicating  them  from 
their  infancy  to  the  service  of  the  all-  merciful  Father, 
cause  them  to  be  baptized  in  his  name,  in  that  of  the 
Saviour,  who  said,  "Suffer  little  children  to  come 
unto  me,"  and  in  that  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  will, 
if  they  ask  him,  sanctify  them  through  the  truth. 
Ought  not  our  very  mercies  to  lead  us  to  repent  that 
we  have  so  often  sinned  against  Him  who,  by  bestow- 
ing them  upon  us,  has  favored  us  far  above  others  ? 
And  while  we  ask  of  him  that  we  may  be  forgiven 


94  Till-     />.lA'A'.Y/>.s    AMi     Till'    LI' 

.rressions,  let  us  not  forget  to  pray  for 
the  millions  of  heathen  who  are  still  living  in  "  the 
region  and  shadow  of  death ;"  to  pray  that  very  soon 
they  may  "behold  a  great  light,"  even  the  clear 
shining  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness. 


XIII. 


HOUSANDS  of  miles  away,  where  the 
waves  of  the  great  Pacific  forever  rise 
and  roll,  distant  alike  from  the  Eastern 
and  the  Western  continents,  is  Polynesia,  the  region 
of  many  islands.  Sometimes  lying  so  low  that  they 
could  be  scarcely  seen  by  the  travelers  in  approach- 
ing ships,  were  it  not  for  the  thick  woods  which 
cover  their  surface — sometimes  rising  like  mountains 
from  the  midst  of  the  water,  these  islands  are,  all 
of  them,  either  entirely  or  in  part,  the  work  of  the 
coral  insect.  They  occur  singly  and  in  groups,  and 
have,  of  late  years,  become  celebrated  in  consequence 
of  the  great  changes  which  have  taken  place  within 
them,  since  missionaries  were  first  sent  from  other 


00  01TO   AM)    JUS    77. 

lands  to  toll  t'  that  far-off  clinic  the 

new  and  wondrous  story  of  Jesus  and  his  cross  ;  f-  >r, 
less  than  one  hundred  years  ago,  those  who  lived  in 
the  region  of  which  we  are  speaking  were  all  hea- 
then, ignorant  of  the  true  God,  worshipers  of  sense- 
less idols,  delighting  in  war,  murder,  and  every  sort 
of  evil  deeds.  Now,  however,  the  case  is  different. 
The  people  have  learned  from  the  Bible  "a  more  ex- 
cellent way,"  and  are  glad  to  give  up  their  idolatry 
and  cruel  practices  in  order  to  serve  the  living  God. 
But  imagine  yourself  on  a  certain  one  of  these  is- 
lands before  this  change  has  occurred.  It  is  one 
which  is  neither  level  nor  wholly  mountainous,  but 
is  crowned  with  lofty  hills,  whose  sides  are  covered 
with  verdure,  and  indented  with  valleys,  where  • 
and  flowers  and  fruits  alike  grow  in  rich  profusion. 
Yet  the  thick  foliage  conceals  no  raging  beasts  that 
"go  about  seeking  whom  they  may  devour,"  and 
cooling  breezes  from  the  south-east  temper  the  heat 
of  the  sun.  It  is,  indeed,  an  earthly  paradise ;  but 
those  who  live  within  it  know  nothing  of  "that 
better  country,  even  a  heavenly."  Not  far  from 
the  shore,  just  at  the  foot  of  a  high  hill,  a  scene  of 
liusy  labor  presents  itself  to  view.  Oito,  the  island 


OITO   AND   HIS   TREE.  97 

chief,  together  with  his  copper-colored  companions, 
is  rearing  his  royal  palace,  which  is  to  be  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  wooden  hut,  rudely  made  and 
as  rudely  furnished,  and  surrounded  by  other  huts 
perhaps  even  inferior  to  itself.  With  rough,  half- 
formed  implements,  the  stalwart  red  men  fell,  one  by 
one,  the  cluster  of  bread-fruit  trees  near  by,  and  then 
carry  the  timber  to  the  place  appointed  for  the  build- 
ing. 

"We  will  spare  this  tree,"  says  Oito,  the  chief, 
"  that  its  fruit  may  refresh  us  when  we  return  wea- 
ried to  our  homes  at  night,  and  strengthen  us  when 
we  awake  at  morning  desiring  food.  Others  like  it 
flourish  in  yonder  wood,  but  this  will  be  more  con- 
venient for  us.  Yes,  we  will  spare  this  tree." 

Five  sunny  years  of  unending  spring  have  passed 
over  Oito's  head ;  but  wintry  blasts  more  withering 
far  than  those  of  northern  winds  have  chilled  his 
spirits.  War — the  cruel,  unrelenting  war  of  savage 
hearts  and  hands — approached  his  island-home,  and 
Oito  feared  it  not. 

Unmoved,  except  by  a  sort  of  joyful  anticipation, 
he  looked  out  over  the  waters  and  beheld  his  ene- 
mies, the  inhabitants  of  the  nearest  isle,  carefully 


98  OITO   AM)    ///>'    Tl; 

threading  their  way  through  the  coral  reef  which  he 
h:ul  once  deemed  his  protection,  and  skillfully  guid- 
ing their  canoes  amid  the  greater  dangers  near  the 
shore.  Bravely  he  went  forth  to  meet  them,  at- 
tended by  his  band  of  followers.  But  alas !  his 
strength  was  weakness,  and  the  might  of  his  arm 
was  unavailing  to  repel  the  power  of  the  invaders. 
Overcome  by  numbers,  his  warriors  falling  fast  on 
every  side,  Oito,  with  a  few  companions,  is  com- 
pelled to  seek  safety  in  flight  Through  the  night 
they  wander,  sheltered  by  the  thick  foliage  of  the 
groves;  and  at  morning,  creeping  cautiously  forth 
from  their  hiding-place,  they  find  their  homes  a  i 
of  smoking  ruins ;  wives  and  children  have  been 
carried  they  know  not  whither,  and  the  fruit-trees 
upon  which  their  lives  depend,  having  been  stripped 
of  their  precious  burden,  lie  prostrate  on  the  ground. 
Thirsty,  and  ready  to  faint  from  hunger  and  fa- 
tigue, the  humbled  chieftain  seeks  eagerly  among  the 
branches,  if  perchance  he  may  discover  some  scanty 
remains  of  the  fruit  which  yesterday  hung  gracefully 
above  his  head.  But  the' work  of  destruction 
been  faithfully  performed,  and  Oito  turns  hungering 
away. 


OITO   AND   HIS    TREE.  99 

Yet,  what  is  that  he  discerns  towering  amid  the 
curling  mists  of  smoke  ?  Can  it  be  a  delusion  ?  or 
is  the  vision  real  ?  The  tree  which  was  spared  be- 
fore has  again  escaped  destruction.  And  now  most 
nobly  it  fulfills  the  end  for  which  it  was  created. 
The  dark-brown  nuts  scattered  here  and  there  among 
the  green  leaves  furnish  both  food  and  drink  to  the 
famished  warriors,  and  the  bark  supplies  new  rai- 
ment for  their  bodies.  Gladly  they  receive  the 
blessings,  so  grateful  in  their  hour  of  need.  The 
tree  whose  life  they  saved  has  saved  their  own. 

Eeader,  you  have  read  in  the  book  better  than  all 
books  beside,  the  story  of  another  tree,  whose  owner, 
seeking  food  thereon,  found  none.  You  remember 
the  command  unto  his  servant,  "Cut  it  down;  why 
cumbereth  it  the  ground  ?"  and  that,  though  another 
trial  was  granted,  it  was  only  one  more;  either  it 
must  bear  fruit,  or  must  perish.  You,  too,  have 
been  placed  by  the  Great  Husbandman  in  this  field 
of  the  world.  Through  another  year  the  dews  of 
his  grace  have  been  shed  around  you,  the  sunshine 
of  his  love  has  beamed  upon  you ;  and  though  death, 
the  great  destroyer,  has  smitten  many,  very  many, 
of  those  who,  twelve  months  ago,  were  by  your  side, 


100  OITO   J  TUSK 

your  d:iy.s  have  been  prolonged.  And  now  the 
Master  looks  for  fruit.  Shall  he  find  it,  or  shall  he 
not?  He  seeks  deeds  of  kindness,  concerning 
which  he  may  say,  in  the  last  great  day  of  account, 
"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least 
of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 
He  seeks  for  the  "fruit  of  the  Spirit" — which  all 
who  will  may  bear — for  "love,  joy,  peace,  long- 
suffering,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith,  meekness,  tem- 
perance." Seek  for  his  aid  to  do  his  will,  that  thus 
you  may  "  glorify  God,  and  enjoy  him  forever." 


XIV. 


T  was  not  a  lesson  in  spelling,  or  geo- 
graphy, or  arithmetic,  that  Effie  had  to 
learn ;  not  a  chapter  in  the  Bible, 
nor  a  page  in  the  catechism.  It  is  trne  that  she 
was  frequently  required  to  study  all  of  these ;  but 
not  only  often,  always,  every  hour  and  moment 
and  day  from  the  time  she  first  began  to  speak 
until  ten  years  of  her  life  had  passed,  she  had  need 
of  learning  the  lesson  which  was  till  then  post- 
poned. If  Effie  had  been  alone  in  this  necessity,  it 
would  be  useless  to  expose  the  fault  which  caused 
it ;  but  she  has  plenty  of  company.  Far  too  many, 
both  boys  and  girls,  stand  in  the  same  class  with  her 
in  the  great  school  of  the  world,  all  alike  requiring 


•Fiers  LESSON. 


to  have  taught  them  the  value  and  the  beauty  of  the 
virtue  of  contentment.  When  Willie  comes  home 
grumbling  because  his  studies  are  too  difficult,  or  his 
teacher  too  strict  ;  because  his  clothes  are  not  made 
to  suit  him,  or  his  dinner  not  cooked  to  his  taste,  1)U 
fault  finding  is  very  good  proof  that  he  needs  to  pos- 
sess this  jewel. 

When  Jenny  complains  that  her  dress  is  too  plain, 
the  weather  too  warm,  the  trimming  on  her  bonnet 
half  a  shade  too  dark  ;  when  a  frown  clouds  her  face 
because  her  seat  in  Sunday-school  does  not  please 
her,  because  a  poor  man's  child  sits  near  by  ;  because 
the  library-book  is  one  in  which  she  has  possibly 
read  a  page  or  more  —  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  she 
is  one  of  Effie's  companions. 

But  now  for  the  story.  Mr.  Eldridge's  home  was 
a  delightful  one  ;  its  appearance  showed  it  to  be  the 
abode  of  wealth  and  luxury  ;  every  thing  within  and 
without  was  contrived  for  the  comfort  and  pleasure 
of  the  inmates.  Looking  at  it,  the  passer-by  would 
have  said,  "  Here,  if  anywhere,  one  might  be  hap- 
py," and  his  observation  would  have  been  just.  But 
living  in  a  place  so  beautiful  was  not  the  only  nor 
even  the  greatest  blessing  that  Effie  enjoyed.  God 


EFFIE'S  LESSON.  103 

had  given  her  loving  parents,  who  cared  not  only  for 
her  bod}7",  but  also  for  the  soul  which  dwelt  within  ; 
and  her  playmates  were  three  little  brothers,  all  of* 
them  bright  and  healthy,  and  very  fond  of  their 
sister.  But  a  discontented  mind  will  make  itself 
trouble  if  it  can  not  find  any  ready-made ;  and  Effie 
certainly  displayed  a  great  deal  of  ingenuity  in  dis- 
covering excuses  for  complaining.  She  found  fault 
with  one  thing  or  another  every  day  and  all  day 
long.  If  the  sky  was  cloudy,  she  would  exclaim, 
"  O  dear !  how  dark  it  is ;  I  wish  it  would  grow 
lighter !"  And  if  the  sun  shone  out  clear  and  full, 
she  worried  because  its  beams  were  too  bright  or  its 
rays  too  warm.  The  roses  in  the  garden  were  love- 
ly ;  but  she  didn't  see  why  they  had  to  have  thorns. 
The  flowers  looked  prettiest  in  the  morning;  she 
wished  they  would  not  always  be  so  covered  with 
dew  then  that  she  could  not  gather  them.  Her  kitten 
was  a  dear  little  thing ;  but  what  a  pity  it  was  that  it 
had  claws :  and  Rover  was  a  splendid  dog ;  but  he 
had  such  a  horrible  bark ! 

Of  course,  if  Bffie  found  so  many  imperfections  in 
the  works  of  the  great  Creator,  it  could  not  be  ex- 
pected that  any  thing  of  human  workmanship  would 


104  El 

appear  to  her  free  from  defect.     Did  her  m 
her  a  new  dress,  it  was  cither  too  coarse  or  too 
too  dark  or  too  light     Did  her  father  bring  1 
curious  toy,  it  was  good  enough,  but  so  much  like 
what  she  ha-1  h:ul  before.     In  fact,  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  please  this  fastidious  young  lady.     She 
had  so  many  things  to  enjoy  that  she  prized  none  of 
them  rightly.     She  needed  to  be  deprived  of  some 
of  her  mercies  in  order  to  learn  how  to  appreciate 
those  that  remained. 

One  day,  in  the  course  of  what  at  first  seemed  to 
be  a  vain  search  after  trouble,  she  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  her  eyes  were  not  of  the  right  color. 
Now,  this  may  appear  to  you  to  have  been  a  very 
trifling  discovery ;  nevertheless,  it  was  attended  with 
important  consequences  to  Effie.  Why,  she  had  now 
found  a  cause  for  complaint  which  would  last  all 
through  her  life ;  and  though  there  was  a  scowl  on 
her  brow  whenever  she  mentioned  the  fact,  it 
dently  was  to  her  a  source  of  real  pleasure.  She 
could  murmur  now  by  night  or  by  day,  whether 
alone  or  in  company ;  her  eyes  would  certainly  al- 
ways be  with  her,  and  furnish  an  excuse  for  discon- 
tent. They  were  very  good  eyes,  it  is  true,  very 


EFFIE'S  LESSON.  105 

useful,  indeed,  quite  essential  to  her  enjoyment  of 
the  good  things  of  earth  ;  but,  notwithstanding  all 
this,  they  were  gray — not  at  all  pretty ;  and  if  they 
had  only  been  blue  or  black,  she  might  have  been 
handsome.  So  the  child  continually  tormented  her- 
self and  grieved  her  friends  by  her  sinful  fault-find- 
ing with  one  of  the  best  gifts  of  her  Maker.  A 
great  part  of  her  time  she  spent  before  the  glass — 
now  darkening  the  room,  now  lighting  it — endeavor- 
ing in  some  way  to  make  those  perverse  eyes  at  least 
look  blue,  if  only  for  a  moment ;  and  by  night  she 
dreamed  again  and  again  of  a  certain  good  fairy  who 
was  to  come  down  the  chimney  some  cold  winter 
evening  and  grant  her  whatever  wish  she  might 
have,  which  wish  can,  of  course,  be  easily  imagined. 
How  much  better  would  it  have  been  for  Erne  if,  in- 
stead of  thus  foolishly  fretting  about  a  matter  of  no 
consequence,  she  had  been  troubled  about  the  black- 
ness of  her  wicked  heart,  and,  because  of  that,  with 
a  sorrow  that  needed  not  to  be  repented  of,  had 
prayed  that  it  might  be  "made  white  in  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb."  It  is  well  to  be  thus  dissatisfied  with 
the  sinfulness  of  our  souls,  but  is  it  not  strange  that 


106  /;/••/••//. 

any  should  be  discontented  -with  their  bodies,  so 
"fearfully  and  wonderfully  made"? 

At  length,  Effie  learned  the  lesson  she  had  nc 
so  long.     "O  Effie,  Effie  I"  Charlie  exclaimed,  as  ho 
came  running  to  her  room  one  morning   in   the 
spring-time,  "  Papa  has  bought  a  house  in  the  coun- 
try, and  we  are  all  going  to  move  there  next  -\Y< 

"Oh!  are  we  really?  Isn't  that  splendid?"  and 
for  once,  Effie  was  more  than  contented,  she  was  in 
ecstasies.  But  no,  she  was  not  quite  contented,  even 
then;  she  didn't  know  why  they  had  to  wait  so 
long;  she  thought  they  might  go  the  next  day. 
But  her  parents  said  it  was  impossible  to  do  so,  and 
the  young  lady  was  obliged  to  control  her  impa- 
tience as  best  she  could  through  five  long  days  and 
nights.  They  passed  at  length,  and  so  did  the  jour- 
ney to  the  new  home,  and  at  last,  Effie  and  her 
brothers  were  really  in  the  country  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives.  What  a  shouting  and  hurrahing 
there  was,  as  they  jumped  from  the  carriage  and  ran 
about  to  explore  the  new  domain  1 

First  the  house,  then  the  lawn,  the  garden,  and 
the  orchard  were  in  turn  visited  and  examined 
Presently,  their  mother's  voice  was  heard  calling, 


EFFIE'S  LESSON.'  107 

"  Come,  children ;  you  have  seen  enough  for  one  day ; 
it  is  time  for  you  to  rest." 

"O  dear!  I  think  we  might  stay  out  a  little 
longer ;  we  have  not  had  near  all  the  fun  we  want," 
Effie  replied.  Of  course,  it  could  not  be  expected 
that  she  would  be  satisfied  with  the  pleasure  she  had 
already  experienced ;  she  always  wanted  something 
more. 

"  Effie,  did  you  hear  what  I  said  ?  I  want  you  to 
come  to  the  house  immediately." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  in  a  minute.  I  just  want  to  seo 
what's  in  this  tree."  And  the  disobedient  girl  ran 
forward  toward  a  large  apple-tree  which  she  just 
then  happened  to  notice.  The  trunk,  which  was 
hollow,  was  very  thick,  with  a  wide  opening  on  one 
side  of  it.  "  Oh !  see  here.  This  is  house  enough 
for  me."  And,  stooping  down,  Effie  disappeared 
through  the  opening. 

Buzz,  buzz,  buzz,  buzz !  what  could  be  flying 
around  her  head  ?  Sting,  sting,  sting !  the  child 
screamed  with  pain,  but  was  too  terrified  to  escape 
from  the  bees'  nest  into  which  she  had  thus  rudely 
intruded. 

Her  cries  brought  her  parents  to  the  spot,  who  in 


'El  KSSON. 

some  way  contrived  to  draw  their  daughter  out  of 
the  tree.  But  in  what  a  condition  I  J In- 
completely covered  with  stings,  and  her  eyes  were 
already  swollen  shut.  Gray  or  black,  Eflie  would 
have  given  any  thing  then  to  have  had  them  become 
as  they  had  been  a  few  moments  before.  But  the 
punishment  she  had  brought  upon  herself  was  too 
severe  to  admit  of  her  thinking  then  of  any  thing 
save  her  suffering.  It  was  not  till  hours  afterward 
that,  as  she  lay,  still  sightless  and  disfigured,  in  ;i 
darkened  room,  she  said  to  herself:  "  I  !•  >\v  .-•: range  it 
is  that  an  accident  should  have  happened  to  my  eyes 
just  when  I  had  been  worrying  so  much  about  them. 
I  really  believe  it  is  because  I  was  not  satisfied  with 
their  color.  I  shouldn't  care  about  that  now,  if  I 
could  only  open  them.  I  don't  think  I  will  ever  be 
discontented  with  any  thing  good  again — it  is  so 
very  sad  to  have  it  taken  away." 

AVas  not  Effie's  conclusion  a  very  sensible  one? 
Probably  her  lesson  was  thoroughly  committed  to 
memory. 


XY. 


NE  beautiful  morning  in  the  spring,  when 
the  birds  were  singing  their  sweetest 
songs  in  the  midst  of  the  blossoms  on  the 
fruit-trees ;  when  the  dandelions  were  glowing  in  the 
grass,  and  rarer  flowers  were  blooming  in  the  beds, 
Frank  and  Eddy  went  out  into  the  garden  to  play. 
"Be  kind  to  one  another,"  said  their  mother,  as  they 
left  the  house,  and  then  she  took  her  seat  by  the 
window,  where  she  could  watch  them  without  being 
seen.  You  know  that  mothers  are  so  very  fond  of 
having  their  children  always  in  sight,  especially 
when  they  are  these  wide-awake,  mischievous,  fun- 
loving  little  boys  and  girls,  always  getting  into  trou- 
ble, and  always  coming  to  "  mother"  for  help.  But 


110  WJHJ  >7/.i/./,  y,  -r; 

Frank  and  Kddy  managed  to  keep  out  of  mischief 
that  morning — indeed,   they  played  so  quieth 
some  time  that  Mrs.  Woolsey  wondered  at  the  still- 
ness ;  but  it  was  only  the  calm  before  a  storm,  as  she 
afterward  found  to  her  sorrow. 

"  Eddy,  go  to  the  house  and  get  your  drum,  and 
something  to  fight  with,  and  we  will  play  soldier.'' 

"  Well,  but  I'm  going  to  be  captain." 

"  No,  you're  not  I'll  be  captain  myself;  I'm  the 
oldest" 

"  But  I  was  drummer  yesterday,  and  I  think  3*ou 
ought  to  be  to-day." 

"I  guess  I  wouldn't  be  ordered  by  any  body 
younger  than  I  am.  I'm  going  to  be  captain,  or  I 
won't  play  at  all." 

"Well,"  said  Eddy,  his  lip  quivering  and  the  tears 
fast  coming  into  his  eyes.  He  had  wanted  to  have 
the  command  very  much,  but  he  was  unwilling  to 
be  left  to  amuse  himself  alone,  so  he  went  for  the 
necessary  weapons. 

Do  you  think  that  either  brother  was  as  happy 
then  as  though  both  had  been  kind  and  obliging, 
not  seeking  cac¥h  his  own  advantage,  but  in  "  honor 
preferring  one  another"? 


WHO   SHALL   BE   GREATEST?  Ill 

Eddy  was  sorry  that  lie  could  not  obtain  the 
coveted  position,  and  Frank,  who  was  older,  and 
ought  to  have  set  an  example  of  good  behavior, 
already  began  to  feel  that  he  had  acted  selfishly  and 
unbecomingly.  However,  he  was  too  proud  to  con- 
fess this ;  so  when  Eddy  came  running  back  with 
his  father's  cane  in  lieu  of  a  sword,  a  broom-handle 
intended  for  a  gun,  and  the  drum  swung  over  his 
shoulder  by  a  strap,  he  meekly  took  his  place  in  the 
ranks,  and  followed  the  commands,  "  Shoulder 
arms!"  "Mark  time!"  "Right  about  face  I"  etc., 
etc.,  with  implicit  obedience.  He  and  the  captain 
were  just  in  the  midst  of  a  forced  march  in  pursuit 
of  the  enemy,  when  a  cry  of  terror  was  heard  from 
over  the  fence. 

"  What's  that  ?"  the  whole  army — that  is  to  say, 
the  two  boys — exclaimed  at  once,  and  both  ran  to 
the  spot  from  which  the  sound  had  proceeded. 

"  Oh !  it's  only  a  little  beggar  girl.  Come  back, 
Eddy  I"  And  Frank  turned  away  disdainfully. 

His  brother  remained  to  investigate  affairs. 
"What's  the  matter,  little  girl?"  he  asked  of  the 
child,  by  whose  side  was  an  overturned  basket. 

"  That  cow  over  there  upset  my  basket,  and  I  was 


1  1-'  H7/o    SHALL   BE   (,  .  -Tf 

taking  tin-  bread  home  for  dinner."     She  look 
though  her  g:  casurcs  had  suffered  injury,  as 

indeed  they  had. 

"  Never  mind,  I'll  help  you,"  said  Eddy  kindly ; 
and  stooping  down,  he  began  collecting  the  scat: 
pieces  of  bread.  The  little  girl,  who  was  scarcely 
large  enough  to  be  trusted  out  of  doors  alone,  assist- 
ed him  in  the  task,  and  soon  all  the  damage  had  been 
repaired.  But  Eddy  did  not  stop  here ;  he  thought 
he  had  not  done  quite  enough ;  so  he  said  as  politely 
as  possible :  "  I  will  go  with  you  a  way,  so  that  you 
need  not  be  afraid  of  the  cow." 

The  child  thankfully  accepted  the  offer,  and 
conducted  beyond  the  reach  of  danger.     As  Eddy 
returned  to  the  garden,  he  was  met  by  his  brother, 
who  saluted  him  in  no  very  respectful  tones  with 
these  words : 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  I'd  take  the  trouble  to  help 
a  little  beggar  girl.  I'd  like  to  know  what  mother 
would  say  to  see  you  in  such  company  as  that?" 

"  Would  you  ?  Then  come  to  the  house,  and  you 
shall  hear  what  I  would  say." 

Mrs.  Woolsey's  watchful  eyes  and  ears  had  fol- 
lowed her  children  all  the  morning.  She  had  heard 


117/0   SHALL   BE   GREATEST?  113 

the  dispute  about  their  play,  had  witnessed  the  sud- 
den close  of  their  sport,  and  the  ready  kindness 
shown  by  her  younger  son  to  the  little  stranger ;  and 
now  she  had  come  to  take  her  boys  aside  for  a  short 
talk,  in  order  to  teach  them,  if  she  could,  some  use- 
ful lesson  from  the  incidents  of  the  day. 

When  they  had  reached  the  sitting-room,  and 
Frank  and  Eddy  had  taken  their  places,  one  on  each 
side  of  her,  their  mother  asked : 

"  Can  either  of  you  tell  me  what  is  generally  the 
reason  why  people  fight  against  each  other  ?" 

The  boys  hung  their  heads  in  silence ;  they  began 
to  suspect  that  they  had  not  been  so  entirely  alone 
in  the  garden  as  they  had  supposed.  But  Mrs. 
"Woolsey  waited  for  a  reply,  so  Frank  answered : 

"It's  because  they  want  to  kill  their  enemies; 
isn't  it  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  why  do  they  have  enemies  ?  and  why 
do  they  wish  to  destroy  them  ?  Is  it  not  often  be- 
cause they  desire  to  make  themselves  powerful? 
You  have  read  in  your  history  of  Caesar,  the  Roman 
general ;  of  Alexander,  the  Macedonian  king ;  of 
Napoleon,  the  emperor  of  the  French.  All  of  these, 
you  know,  the  world  calls  great ;  but  each  of  them 


WHO   SHALL    I  ^77 

was  willing  to  bring  sorrow  upon  countless  multi- 

S  if  only  he  could  secure  authority  to  him 
And  their  mother  went  on  to  tell  them  how  much 
trouble  had  been  made  in  the  world  because  men 
wanted  to  control  each  other — very  much,  she  said, 
as  two  little  boys  whom  she  knew  of— and  how 
there  had  been  many  wars,  and  a  great  deal  of  fight- 
ing, and  millions  upon  millions  had  been  slain  for 
the  reason  that  some  one  or  another  had  been  all  the 
time  trying  to  make  himself  powerful;  and  how 
few  had  been  willing  to  follow  in  humility  the  foot- 
steps of  the  Son  of  Man,  who  "  came  not  to  be  minis- 
tered unto,  but  to  minister,  and  to  give  his  life  a 
ransom  for  many." 

After  that,  Mrs.  "Woolsey  read  from  the  Bible  how 
Jesus,  the  great  Teacher,  taught  his  disciples,  n  He 
that  is  greatest  among  you,  let  him  be  as  the  young- 
er ;  and  he  that  is  chief,  as  he  that  doth  serve." 

"  And  now,"  she  continued,  "  which  do  you  think 
is  the  more  manly  thing  for  a  son  of  mine  to  do — to 
insist  upon  ruling  his  brother,  even  while  engaged  in 
play,  or  to  leave  his  sport  in  order  to  help  a  little 
outcast,  and  thus  follow  the  example  of  Christ  when 
he  washed  his  disciples'  feet  ?  One  of  you  succeeded 


WHO   SHALL   BE   GREATEST?  115 

in  making  himself  captain,  the  other  in  imitating  this 
example.  Which  do  you  think  is  really  the  greater, 
according  to  the  rule  I  have  just  taught  you?  I  do 
not  wish  to  judge  either  of  you  harshly;  but  here- 
after, whenever  a  dispute  like  that  of  this  morning 
arises,  I  hope  you  will  remember  the  words  of  the 
Apostle  who  wrote,  '  In  lowliness  of  mind  let  each 
esteem  others  better  than  himself'  " 


XVL 

tiwrib't  f 


EFORE  we  begin  to  talk  about  Carrie,  or 
any  of  her  sayings  or  doings,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  ask  the  question,  "What  is  an 
idol? 

An  idol,  some  little  girl  will  say,  is  an  image  that 
is  worshiped  instead  of  the  true  God. 

This  is,  no  doubt,  a  correct  answer  to.  the  question, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  not  the  only  answer 
which  might  be  given.  The  heathen,  it  is  true, 
worship  senseless  blocks  of  gold  or  silver,  wood  or 
stone — the  work  which  their  own  hands  have  made ; 
but  there  are  people  in  this  Christian  land  who 
would  spurn  such  folly  as  this,  and  yet  who,  never- 
theless, have  their  idols  also,  which  are  only  even 


CAREIE'S  IDOL.  117 

more  real  than  the  meaningless  figures  before  which 
the  nations  that  forget  God  too  often  bow  in  adora- 
tion. Sometimes  we  love  our  friends  too  fondly, 
and  think  more  of  them  than  of  the  kind  Father  who 
gave  them  to  us,  together  with  every  other  blessing 
which  we  possess.  When  we  do  this,  we  idolize 
our  friends. 

Sometimes,  too,  we  make  gods  of  our  pleasures, 
and  so  long  as  we  can  enjoy  them,  care  little  whether 
or  not  we  are  walking  in  the  straight  and  narrow 
path  which  leads  to  life  eternal.  To  which  of  these 
different  sorts  of  idols  Carrie's  belonged,  the  reader  is 
left  to  determine. 

"  Carrie,"  said  her  mother,  one  Saturday  evening, 
"  it  is  time  to  put  away  your  playthings  now.  You 
have  had  a  good  time  with  them  all  day,  and  to- 
morrow, you  know,  will  be  the  Sabbath.  I  want 
you  to  rise  early  in  order  to  prepare  for  Sunday- 
school  ;  so  get  ready  now  to  say  good-night." 

"Yes,  mother,  just  as  soon  as  I  finish  this  castle, 
and  put  dolly's  night-dress  on  her.  It  will  only  take 
a  few  minutes." 

Mrs.  Almar  made  no  reply.  She  had  accustomed 
her  daughter  to  obey,  and  obey  at  once,  whatever 


118 

command  she  might  give ;  and  she  supposed  that  the 
child's  knowledge  of  what  was  right  would  pr 
her  from  disobeying  now,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life.  But  Carrie's  conscience  appeared  to  have  gone 
asleep  for  a  little  while,  and  Carrie  herself  was  so  en- 
gaged with  her  play  that  she  forgot  her  mother's 
words  almost  as  soon  as  they  were  uttered.  The 
castle  was  finished,  and  then  overthrown.  A  new 
one  was  just  beginning  to  rise  from  the  ruins,  when 
Mrs.  Almar  reluctantly  spoke  the  second  time: 
"  Carrie,  did  you  not  hear  what  I  said  ?" 

"Oh  I  yes,  mother.  I  forgot  I'm  coming,  just 
as  soon  as  I  put  dolly  in  bed." 

"  No,  Carrie,  come  right  away.  I  am  grieved  to 
see  that  you  disobey  me."  What  sudden  change  had 
come  over  her  usually  obedient  child  Mrs.  Almar 
knew  not,  but  great  was  her  amazement  to  see 
Carrie  still  quietly  continue  her  amusement.  It  was 
time  that  some  decided  measure  should  be  taken. 
"  Carrie,  I  have  spoken  to  you  twice  already.  Now 
mind  me  instantly."  Carrie  was  convinced  by  the 
firm  yet  kindly  tone,  and  by  her  mother's  evident 
displeasure ;  that  further  disobedience  would  not  be 
the  part  of  wisdom ;  so  she  put  away  her  toys  as 


CARRIE'S  IDOL.  119 

slowly  and  with  as  much  delay  as  possible,  and  bade 
her  mother  good-night. 

"  I  do  love  to  see  the  children  happy,"  remarked 
the  lady  that  evening  to  her  husband,  "  but  Carrie  is 
really  too  fond  of  play.  She  is  unwilling  to  attend 
to  any  thing  else  properly,  and  to-night  she  even  dared 
to  disobey  me  when  I  desired  her  to  lay  aside  her 
toys.  I  do  not  know  how  I  shall  ever  teach  her  that 
there  is  any  thing  more  important  than  having  a  little 
fun." 

But,  surprised  and  grieved  as  Mrs.  Almar  had 
already  been,  she  was  destined  to  be  still  more  greatly 
astonished  at  her  daughter's  conduct.  Early  the 
next  morning  Carrie  awoke ;  but  do  you  suppose 
that  it  was  with  a  heart  thankful  to  God  for  his  mer- 
cies, and  prepared  to  engage  in  his  worship  and  ser- 
vice ?  By  no  means.  Carrie's  love  of  play  had  led 
her  to  disregard  the  commands  of  her  mother,  and 
now  it  caused  her  to  forget  the  law  of  One  who  is 
far  greater  and  better  than  any  on  earth.  "  Lillie," 
she  whispered  to  her  sister  a  couple  of  years  younger 
than  herself,  "  Lillie,  let's  get  up  and  play  school. 
You  may  be  teacher,  and  dolly'  and  I  will  be  the 
scholars." 


120  r.i/t'A7/;-.s    IDOL. 

Lillic  was  quick  enough  to  accept  the  proposition, 
and  before  many  minutes,  the  little  girls  were  seated 
in  front  of  their  baby-house  "  playing  school."  They 
just  begun  an  exercise  in  vocal  music,  when 
Mrs.  Almar,  attracted  by  the  sound,  suddenly  enter- 
ed the  room.  "  Carrie,  Lillie !  what  are  you  doing  ? 
Have  you  forgotten  the  verse  I  taught  you  last  v, 

'  I  most  not  work,  I  must  not  play 
Upon  God's  holy  Sabbatli  day'  ?" 

It  was  Carrie's  turn  now  to  be  surprised.  "  Why, 
mother,  is  it  Sabbath  ?  I  forgot  all  about  it,  indeed 
I  did.  We  didn't  think  we  were  doing  any  harm, 
did  we,  Lillie?" 

Lillie  answered  "  no"  in  a  rather  hesitating  way; 
but  Mrs.  Almar  looked  as  grave  as  before.  "I  am 
afraid  you  have  no  very  good  excuse,  Carrie.  You 
know  the  Bible  says  that  we  must  ( remember  the 
Sabbath  day,  to  keep  it  holy ;'  and  that  is  precisely 
what  you  have  failed  to  do.  You  have  been  so 
eager  for  a  little  sport  that  you  have  forgotten  both 
God  and  his  word.  There  is  no  harm  in  liking  to 
play,  at  proper  times  and  places ;  but  it  is  wrong  to 
be  so  interested  in  what  you  like  to  do  as  to  neglect 


CARRIE'S  IDOL.  121 

what  you  ought  to  do.  We  must  go  now,  father  is, 
waiting  for  us ;  but  we  will  have  a  longer  talk  this 
afternoon."  Carrie  felt  rather  guilty  and  mortified 
all  day ;  and  when,  toward  evening,  her  mother  en- 
tered the  nursery,  according  to  agreement,  and  called 
the  little  girls  to  her  side,  Carrie  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons, half  dreading,  half  desiring  the  promised 
talk. 

"  I  was  reading  the  other  day,"  began  Mrs.  Almar, 
"  the  story  of  a  young  lady  named  Imogene.  She 
lived  in  a  country  where  most  of  the  people  are 
Eoman  Catholics,  and  Imogene  had  been  taught 
from  childhood  to  count  her  beads,  and  pray  to  the 
Virgin  Mary,  and  to  believe  that  the  priest  had 
power  to  forgive  sins,  together  with  many  other 
foolish  notions  of  which  you  have  never  heard. 
Her  parents,  who  were  very  wealthy,  were  exceed- 
ingly fond  of  their  daughter,  and  delighted  to  give 
her  pleasure.  They  encouraged  her  to  attend  balls, 
and  parties,  and  theatres,  and  to  engage  in  all  simi- 
lar amusements,  thinking  that  these  would  aiford 
her  happiness.  And  Imogene  enjoyed  them  as 
greatly  as  could  be  desired.  But  after  she  had 
passed  several  years  in  this  manner,  the  priest  finally 


122  ••$  IDOL. 

persuaded  her  that  her  manner  of  life  was  altog. 
wrong,  and  that,  if  she  wished  ever  to  : 

03  necessary  for   her  to  enter  the  iirighU 

ent.     This  was  a  place  inhabited  by  a  nu 

of  women,  who  imagined  that,  in  separating  from 

their  friends  and  going  to  live  together  in  a  large 

house  with  stone  walls  :md  narrow  windows,  and  in 

spending  their  time  according  to  certain  i 
they  would  become  holy  and  fit  for  heaven.  Con- 
trary to  the  entreaties  of  her  father  and  mother,  Imo- 
gene  resolved  upon  shutting  herself  up  in  the  con- 
vent. Accordingly,  she  'took  the  veil,'  as  it  is  called, 
and  by  so  doing  became  a  nun.  After  this,  a  great 
portion  of  her  life  was  passed  in  fastings  and  pr;. 
She  even  denied  herself  things  essential  to  her  com- 
fort, and  compelled  herself  to  undergo  much  bodily 
suffering,  but  without  becoming  any  happier  or  really 
better.  It  would  take  too  long  for  me  to  tell  you 
how  she  was  at  length  brought  to  see  that  no  good 
works  of  hers  could  purchase  salvation,  and  that 
there  is  but  one  name  given  under  heaven  among 
men  whereby  we  can  be  saved,  and  how  she  after- 
ward escaped  from  the  convent,  and  spent  the  re- 
mainder of  her  days  in  trying  to  point  out  to  others 


CARRIE'S  IDOL.  123 

the  way  of  life.  But  what  I  want  to  say  is  this : 
Imogene  was  taught  by  the  priest  that  all  earthly 
enjoyment  is  sinful,  and  that  the  more  miserable  she 
made  herself  the  better  she  would  become.  The 
Bible  tells  us  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  rather  that  we 
are  '  to  rejoice  in  the  Lord  always.'  (rod,  who  loved 
us  so  exceedingly  that  he  gave  his  Son  to  die  for  us, 
wishes  us  to  be  happy  in  this  world  as  well  as  in  the 
next,  and  it  is  only  because  we  are  sinful  that  we  are 
ever  unhappy.  But  at  the  same  time,  we  must  re- 
member that  we  enjoy  ourselves  most  when  we  are 
trying  to  do  what  is  right,  and  not  when  we  are  only 
trying  to  please  ourselves.  It  is  not  necessary,  nor 
even  proper,  for  us  to  deny  ourselves  the  innocent 
pleasures  and  comforts  of  life ;  but  we  must  be  care- 
ful not  to  think  so  much  of  them  that  they  will  make 
us  forget  the  duty  which  we  owe  to  God.  For  in- 
stance, it  is  not  wrong  for  you,  Carrie,  to  like  to 
play — it  is  natural  and  right  that  you  should  do  so ; 
but  then  your  love  of  play  should  never  lead  you  to 
disobey  your  mother  nor  to  break  the  Sabbath.  We 
ought  to  learn  to  control  ourselves,  so  that  we  shall 
not  neglect  duty  for  the  sake  of  pleasure.  This  is 
what  is  meant  in  the  Bible  by  the  word  'temperance ;' 


i-'i  CAH: 

it  is  uot  only  not  indulging  in  strong  drink,  or  other 
tilings  which  may  be  injurious,  but  not  indulging 
immoderately  in  any  thing,  IIOWOVT  ri/ht  or  pro- 
per it  may  be  in  itself.  You  know  the  old  proverb, 
that  'Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast;'  and  St.  i 
tells  us  that  'the  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  temperance.'  " 
Carrie  said  nothing,  but  she  resolved  in  her  heart 
that,  though  she  should  never  be  willing  to  leave  her 
dolls  and  baby-house  and  go  to  live  in  a  convent, 
she  would  try  to  be  more  temperate  in  her  love  of 
play. 


XVII. 


VERY  BODY  knows  how  easy  a  thing  it 
sometimes  is  to  lose  the  control  of  one's 
temper,  and  how  hard  a  thing  it  generally 
is  not  to  be  angry  or  irritated  when  others  treat  us 
unkindly.  The  Bible  tells  us  that  "he  that  ruleth 
his  spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a  city,"  arid 
the  wise  man  who  wrote  these  words  knew  full  well 
how  much  more  difficult  a  matter  is  this  same  ruling 
of  the  spirit  than  is  the  braving  of  toil  and  suffering 
and  danger  to  the  soldier  who  goes  forth  fearlessly 
to  meet  the  foe.  But  we  all  have  some  hard  lessons 
to  learn  in  this  world;  and  one  which  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  needs  to  learn  is  this  lesson  of 
guarding  temper  and  tongue  although  in  the  face  of 


I-1'' 

^cation,  aud  of  bearing  calmly  ami  patiently 
whatever  of  sorrow  it  may  please  our  Father  who  is 
in  heaven  to  send  upon  us,  even  when  the  trouble 
comes  by  the  hands  of  those  who  are  sinners  like  our 
selves.  And  to  learn  this,  we  need  look  to  no  earthly 
teacher.  If  we  do,  we  shall  fail  to  obtain  that  which 
we  seek.  It  is  written  of  Moses  that  he  was  very 
meek,  above  all  the  men  which  were  upon  the  face 
of  the  earth  ;  yet  when,  at  Meribah,  the  people  mur- 
mured for  water,  after  having  received  many  proofs 
of  God's  care  for  them,  even  Moses  for  once  grew 
angry,  for  once  forgot  his  meekness ;  and  because  of 
that  one  sin  he  could  not  enter  the  promised  land. 
And  if  we  fail  to  find  in  him  a  perfect  example  of 
this  "fruit  of  the  Spirit,"  to  whom  else  can  we  look 
for  it  but  unto  Him  who  says  to  every  one  that  is 
weary  of  struggling  with  sin,  "Learn  of  me;  for  I 
am  meek  and  lowly  in  heart "  ?  He  has  help  for  the 
humblest  and  feeblest  All  who  trust  in  him  shall 
be  made  conquerors. 

"Good  afternoon,  Fred !     Be  sure  you're  at  school 
early  to-morrow  morning.    We'll  have  rare  fun." 

"  Oh !   yes.     I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  any  thing. 
Good  afternoon !" 


FREDDIE'S   TRIUMPH.  127 

The  first  speaker,  Nat  Taylor,  was  a  tall,  manly 
boy  of  about  fifteen  years  of  age.  Perfect  health 
betrayed  itself  in  every  movement  of  his  frame,  and* 
good  humor  and  intelligence  shone  out  from  liis 
sparkling  eyes.  Only,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  his 
love  of  mirth  sometimes  led  him  to  be  rude,  even  at 
the  expense  of  his  friends.  The  other  boy,  Freddie, 
though  of  the  same  age,  was  much  smaller  in  size ; 
so  much  smaller,  that  a  stranger  would  have  sup- 
posed him  to  be  several  years  younger  than  his  com- 
panion. He  was  not  thinking  of  it  then — no  emo- 
tion but  that  of  gladness  lighted  up  his  countenance 
as  he  anticipated  the  sport  of  helping  to  complete 
the  snow-palace  which  his  comrades  and  himself  had 
begun  in  the  school-house  yard;  but  the  one  great 
trouble  of  his  life  had  been  and  was  that,  while  he 
had  seen  his  playmates,  one  by  one,  grow  to  be  first 
a  little  taller  than  himself,  and  then  continue  rising 
higher  and  higher  until  he  had  to  look  up  to  them, 
almost  as  much,  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  did  to  his 
father,  his  own  height  still  remained  the  same ;  he 
was  always  "little  Freddie."  Not  for  the  world 
would  he  have  revealed  to  his  companions  the  an- 
noyance which  this  fact  occasioned  him;  yet  they 


TUMPS. 

could  not  have  failed  to  notice  bow  his  face  lx 
grave  at  any  allusion,  even  the  faintest,  to  his  .small, 
childish  form,  and  how  it  brightened  if  one  hap- 
pened to  express  the  opinion  that  "  Fred  was  grow- 
ing taller."  And  his  mother  knew  full  well  how 
great  was  the  effort  which  it  cost  her  child  when  he 
said  to  her,  in  a  confidential  twilight  talk,  "  I  am 
willing  to  be  small  if  it  is  better  for  me  to  be  so ;  but 
I  do  wish  that  no  one  would  speak  of  it  before 
me." 

"  I  know  it  is  unpleasant,  Freddie,"  she  replied ; 
"  but  if  any  one  is  thoughtless  enough,  to  ridicule 
your  misfortune,  remember  these  words,  which  you 
will  find  in  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  the  first  epistle 
to  the  Corinthians,  '  Charity '  (you  know  that  means 
love)  '  is  not  easily  provoked  ;'  and  try  to  think  of 
the  example  of  Him  who,  '  when  he  was  reviled,  re- 
viled not  again ;  when  he  suffered,  threatened  not.' 
If  you  ask  him,  he  will  help  you  to  overcome  your 
angry  passion,  which,  if  uncontrolled,  will  injure  you 
far  more  than  a  few  thoughtless  words  ever  can  or 
will."  Freddie  had  need  of  all  the  assistance  which 
this  advice  could  render  him,  on  the  morning  of 
which  we  are  speaking.  Ho  was  just  in  the  act  of 


FREDDIE'S   TRIUMPH.  129 

strapping  up  his  books  preparatory  to  leaving  home, 
about  an  hour  before  school-time,  when  his  grand- 
mother said  to  him,  "  Freddie,  your  mother  purchas- 
ed the  yarn  for  your  socks  yesterday.  If  you  will 
hold  it  for  me  before  you  go  to  school,  I  shall  be  able 
to  knit  considerable  to-day."  Freddie  knew  that  it 
would  be  undutiful,  as  well  as  ungrateful,  to  refuse 
so  small  an  act  of  kindness  to  his  grandmother ;  so 
he  drew  off  his  cap,  laid  down  his  books  reluctantly, 
and  said,  "  "Well,  grandma,"  as  cheerfully  as  could 
have  been  expected  under  the  circumstances.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  though  that  particular  pair  of  socks 
was  destined  to  contain  more  wool  than  any  other 
pair  which  fingers  and  knitting-needles  had  ever 
fashioned,  and  as  though  each  skein  of  the  yarn  had 
lengthened  out  its  slow  length,  until  the  completion 
of  the  work,  instead  of  being  nearer,  appeared  farther 
and  farther  off  as  the  winding  proceeded.  He  perse- 
vered, however,  in  his  martyrdom,  without  discover- 
ing his  impatience,  and  finally  there  came  an  end  to 
the  task,  as  there  does,  sooner  or  later,  to  all  earthly 
things.  It  did  not  require  many  minutes  for  Freddie 
to  snatch  up  his  cap  and  books,  and  be  off  to  the 
school-house.  But  what  was  his  disappointment  to 


130 

find,  upon  reaching  the  spot,  that,  instead  of  being 
able,  as  he  had  hoped,  to  participate  in  the  sport  of 
building,  he  was  just  in  time  to  witness  the 
pletion  of  the  last  and  highest  turret.  Nat  Taylor, 
who  was  the  tallest  boy  in  the  school,  was  standing 
on  tiptoe,  vainly  trying  to  "  finish  off"  the  tower  in 
an  artistic  fashion.  The  top  was  just  a  little  too 
high  for  his  reach,  and  the  small  "  brick  "  of  snow 
which  he  was  endeavoring  to  place  in  a  particular 
position,  would  persist  in  slipping  down,  again  and 
again,  to  the  great  merriment  of  the  surrounding 
crowd  of  boys.  He  was  just  turning  about  in  des- 
pair, when  he  saw  Fred  approaching,  all  out  of 
breath  in  his  eagerness  to  reach  the  scene  of  interest 
"  Halloa,"  shouted  Nat,  "  here  comes  a  regular  Go- 
liath. He  can  reach  the  top,  if  I  can't  Come  on, 
Fred  ;  you're  the  tallest  boy  here  ;  come  and  finish 
this  turret."  The  other  boys  were  foolish  enough  to 
laugh  at  this  very  amusing  bit  of  pleasantry,  and  the 
laugh  only  added  to  the  sting  which  Nat's  careless 
words  brought  to  Freddie's  heart.  Was  it  not  too 
unkind  in  Nat  thus  to  expose  him  to  the  ridicule  of 
the  assembled  school?  Ilad  he  not  already  that 
morning  wrestled  sufficiently  with  his  temper,  with- 


FREDDIE'S   TRIUMPH.  131 

out  having  it  so  sorely  tried  just  at  the  time  when  he 
expected  nothing  but  delight?  It  was  really  too 
bad !  he  would  make  Nat  repent  of  that  speech  ;  and 
Freddie  hastily  began  to  form  a  small,  compact  ball 
of  snow.  If  he  had  not  the  stature  of  Goliath,  he 
had  something  of  the  skill  of  David  ;  not  a  boy  in 
Montville  could  aim  straighter  than  he ;  and  had  not 
David  killed  Goliath  ?  At  first,  these  thoughts,  as 
they  came  rushing  into  his  mind  in  rapid  succession, 
stimulated  him  to  madness.  But  the  last  one  brought 
him  to  himself  again.  Yes,  David  had  killed  Go- 
liath with  only  a  few  pebbles,  and  he  might — but  he 
could  not  bear  to  think  of  it — he  would  not  injure 
Nat  for  any  thing  in  the  world.  What  had  become 
now  of  that  meekness  of  which  his  mother  had 
spoken  ?  What  of  that  charity  which  is  not  easily 
provoked  ?  Freddie's  anger  was  all  gone.  Instead 
of  it  had  come  the  desire  to  prove  to  Nat  that  he  was 
really  not  offended  by  the  thoughtless  ridicule. 
Dropping  the  ball  which  he  had  till  then  held  firmly 
clutched  in  his  hand,  he  replied  in  tones  which  be- 
trayed nothing  but  the  utmost  good  humor,  "  No, 
Nat,  I'm  not  so  tall  as  you  are ;  but  perhaps  it  will 
be  just  as  well  for  the  turret  that  I  am  not.  If  you 


132 


will  let  me  stand  on  your  shoulders,  I  can  do  the 
work  in  a  moment."    Nat,  surprised  and  ashn: 
accepted  Freddie's  offer,  and  when  this  novel  i 
had  been  crowned  with  success,  the  boys  shouted 
•without  a  single  dissenting  voice,  "  Hurrah  for  Fred  ! 
lie  shall  be  king  in  our  palace." 

Freddie's  royalty  lasted  only  until  the  melting  of 
the  snow;  but  wo  know  that  they  shall  reign  as 
kings  for  ever  and  ever,  who,  like  him,  overcome  in 
the  struggle  with  self  and  sin.  "  The  fruit  of  the 
Spirit  is  meekness." 


XYIII. 


*  mm 


HEISTMAS  had  come  and  gone.  The 
large  tree  which  had  adorned  Mr.  Eld- 
rich's  parlor  had  been  robbed  of  its  bur- 
den of  beautiful  gifts,  and  the  crowd  of  happy  chil- 
dren who  had  assembled  to  admire  its  many  wonders 
had  returned  to  the  homes  which  were  to  be  bright- 
ened for  days  by  the  remembrance  of  "  Mary  and 
Fanny's  Christmas-tree."  » 

All  had  gone  but  George  and  Annie  Merton,  two 
favorite  cousins,  who  were  to  remain  all  through  the 
vacation.  "  All  the  vacation  1"  Who  can  tell  what 
bright  anticipations  filled  the  minds  of  the  four  chil- 
dren at  the  sound  of  these  words  ? 

Mary  and  Fanny  had  so  much  to  show,  and  George 
and  Annie  so  much  to  see,  and  there  were  so  many 


V    ,1    11'- >  1.1  DAT. 

games  to  be  played,  and  so  many  new  presents  to 
receive  attention,  "  that  it  seemed,"  as  Fanny  said, 
'*  that  a  week  would  not  be  near  long  enough  for  all 
they  had  to  do." 

And  the  first  two  days  did  pass  very  quickly ;  but 
by  the  afternoon  of  the  third,  when  all  the  games 
they  could  remember  had  been  played  several  times, 
and  when  most  of  the  presents  had  lost  the  first 
charm  of  novelty,  the  children  began  to  grow  weary 
of  having  nobody  to  tell  them  what  to  do. 

"  0  dear !  I  am  almost  tired  of  holidays,"  ex- 
claimed Annie. 

"So  am  I,"  chimed  in  a  chorus  of  three,  and  then 
there  was  silence. 

At  length  a  happy  thought  struck  Fanny.  '•  Let's 
go  and  ask  Aunt  Ella  to  play  school  with  us."  "  Oh ! 
yes,  that  would  be  real  nice,"  said  Annie. 

So  a  committee  of  the  whole  was  immediately  ap- 
pointed to  wait  on  Aunt  Ella,  and  ask  her  to  become 
school-mistress.  Aunt  Ella  readily  consented  to  as- 
sume the  office.  "  Only,"  said  she,  "  there  is  one 
condition :  you  must  promise  to  obey  whatever  I 
say."  The  promise  was,  of  course,  quickly  given  ; 
so  the  school  commenced  then  and  there. 


SCHOOL    ON  A   HOLIDAY. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Aunt  Ella,  "  I  want  you 
each  to  tell  me  which,  of  your  studies  you  like  the 
least." 

Mary  and  Annie  announced  a  special  aversion  to 
arithmetic,  Fanny  to  composition,  while  George 
"  couldn't  bear  either,"  but  lie  thought  "  composition 
was  a  little  the  hardest." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Ella,  "  George,  you  and  Fanny 
may  each  write  a  composition,  and  •!  will  give 
Annie  and  Mary  some  examples  in  arithmetic  to 
perform." 

At  this  the  children  looked  surprised  and  rather 
disappointed;  but  the  promise  was  remembered, 
so  slates  and  pencils  were  procured,  and  the  work 
began. 

Aunt  Ella  was  a  patient  teacher,  and  with  her  ex- 
planations, the  arithmetic  lesson,  although  it  was  in 
Long  Division,  seemed  less  difficult  than  any  similar 
one  had  ever  been  before. 

As  for  the  compositions,  after  the  subjects  were 
once  selected,  they  were  written  with  apparent  ease, 
and  in  a  short  time  were  pronounced  finished. 
"Would  you  like  to  know  what  they  were?  You 
may  read  them,  if  you  will  not  criticise  them  too  se- 


13>;  HOLIDAY. 

verely.     Remember   that  the  authors  were  young, 
is  George's : 

"WINTER. 

••  Winter  is  the  coldest  and  the  pleasantest  season 
of  the  year.  It  is  the  pleasantest,  because  then  we 
have  skating.  Sometimes  the  girls  fall  on  the  ice, 
but  we  boys  never  do — that  is,  unless  we  can't  pos- 
sibly help  it" 

Fanny's  subject  was : 

"  CHRISTMAS. 

"  Christmas  is  the  day  on  which  we  celebrate  the 
birth  of  Christ.  Last  Monday,  father  said,  was  the 
eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-fifth  Christmas.  It  was 
a  very  pleasant  day  for  me,  and  I  received  a  great 
many  presents  ;  but  mother  says  there  are  a  good 
many  children  who  never  had  a  Christmas  present  in 
their  life.  I  feel  very  sorry  for  them." 

Aunt  Ella  having  corrected  these  compositions, 
read  them  aloud  to  the  school,  and  then  said,  "  I 
want  to  ask  a  question.  Who  can  tell  me  what  was 
the  first  Christmas  gift  ?" 

The  children  looked  very  thoughtful  for  a  moment, 


SCHOOL    ON  A   HOLIDAY.  137 

and  appeared  much  perplexed ;  but  at  length  Mary 
exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  I  know.  It  was  the  presents  the 
wise  men  from  the  East  brought  to  Jesus." 

Aunt  Ella  smiled,  and  said,  "  Those  were  certainly 
the  first  Christmas  gifts  he  received ;  but  there  was 
one  given  to  us  even  before  the  visit  of  the  wise 
men.  Can  you  not  think  of  the  name  of  this  Christ- 
mas gift  ?" 

"I  think  you  must  mean  Christ  himself,"  said 
Annie  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,"  said  Aunt  Ella.  "That  first  Christmas 
night,  Grod  gave  his  Son  to  us  to  be  our  Saviour. 
He  was  the  best  and  greatest  Christmas  gift  that  we 
could  receive — a  gift  so  good  and  so  great  that  he  is 
called  in  the  Bible  '  the  unspeakable  gift.'  And 
since  this  gift  is  offered  freely  to  us  all,  do  you  not 
think  that  each  of  us  should  be  very  glad  to  receive 
him  as  our  own  ?" 

The  consciences  of  the  children  answered,  "Yes," 
and  their  faces  interpreted  the  answer.  Then,  as  it 
was  growing  dark,  Aunt  Ella  dismissed  the  school ; 
but  her  scholars  will  never  forget  that  happy  after- 
noon, nor  the  earnest  question  with  which  it  ended, 
"What  do  you  think  of  the  great  Christmas  Gift  ? 


\I\. 

tog 


DEAR !  I  can  never  learn  this  old  les- 
son ;  and  I  won't,  either  1"  And  James 
Harris  stamped  his  foot  on  the  floor, 
jerked  his  chair  from  the  table  at  which  he  had  been 
sitting,  and  flung  his  Latin  grammar,  the  innocent 
cause  of  his  wrath,  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 
Having  thus  given  way  to  these  rather  ungentle- 
manly  expressions  of  indignation,  he  sat,  for  a  time, 
in  moody  silence,  his  thoughts  meanwhile  running 
somewhat  after  this  manner : 

"  I  don't  see  why  my  father  has  to  send  me  to  that 
horrid  old  school ;  I  wish  it  was  in  Jericho, 
ma's  so  particular  about  my  going  every  day.    I 
don't  see  what  good  it  does  a  fellow  to  study  all 


CHANGING   HIS  MIND.  139 

these  lessons.  Be  useful  -when  I'm  a  man,  will 
they  ?  I  don't  believe  it.  I  forget  'em  as  soon  as 
I've  learned  them,  any  way." 

How  much  longer  he  might  have  pursued  this 
slightly  crooked  line  of  thought  is  uncertain ;  pro- 
bably, if  he  had  carried  it  on  all  the  evening,  he 
would  not,  by  so  doing,  have  become  either  wiser  or 
better.  But  the  soliloquy  came  to  a  sudden  end  in 
consequence  of  the  fact  that  the  eye  of  this  ambi- 
tious young  student  happened  to  fall  upon  a  certain 
new  book  which  he  had  not  before  noticed.  Now, 
James,  though  he  was  by  no  means  fond  of  studying 
Latin  grammar,  was  exceedingly  fond  of  reading  an 
entertaining  story;  so  the  instant  that  he  observed 
the  book  he  snatched  it  up  eagerly,  and  began  turn- 
ing over  its  pages  in  order  to  see  whether  they 
promised  to  furnish  him  any  amusement.  Some- 
thing evidently  arrested  his  attention,  for  there  was 
quiet  in  the  library  for  nearly  an  hour  afterward, 
and  during  that  time  the  boy  scarcely  raised  his 
head  or  changed  his  position.  If  any  one  had  been 
looking  over  his  shoulder  just  then,  he  might  have 
seen  that  the  story  which  proved  so  fascinating  was, 
in  its  principal  parts,  something  like  this : 


l-lo  ///,, 

"During  any  summer  season,  between  thirty  and 

ire  ago,  a  traveler  in  Scotland  n. 
perhaps,  have  observed,  in  some  one  of  the  stone 
;  ies  of  the  country,  a  poor  stone-mason,  of  rough 
and  unpolished  aspect,  clad  in  the  coarse  garments 
suited  to  his  calling,  his  hands  soiled  from  contact 
with  the  wet  rocks,  and  his  bushy  hair  giving  no 
token  whatever  that  it  covered  a  brain  of  more  than 
usual  size  and  power.  But  even  if  the  traveler  had 
encountered  the  particular  gang  of  workmen  of 
which  this  mason  was,  for  the  time,  a  member,  it  is 
not  at  all  probable  that  any  thing  in  his  appearance 
would  have  attracted  the  attention  of  the  stranger. 
Perhaps,  however,  if  his  fellow-workmen  had.  been 
questioned  concerning  him,  they  might  have  said 
that,  when  among  them,  he  was  habitually  silent; 
that  he  seemed  to  take  a  strange  interest  in  the  form 
and  position  of  the  rocks  among  which  he  toiled ; 
that  while  their  leisure  hours  were  passed  in  foolish 
talk  and  laughter,  he  loved  to  steal  off  by  himself, 
with  a  book  and  his  thoughts  for  company ;  and  that, 
in  a  word,  he  appeared  to  know  a  great  deal  more 
than  one  at  first  sight  would  be  likely  to  suspect. 
And  if  the  stars  in  the  sky  above  could  have  borne 


CHANGING   HIS  MIND.  141 

their  witness  to  the  eccentric  character  of  this  young 
man,  they  would  have  told  how,  evening  after  even- 
ing, they  had  looked  down  upon  him  as  he  sat  alone 
in  the  hay-loft  of  some  half-covered  barrack,  and  did 
nothing  but  think  for  hours  together.  He  was  cer- 
tainly something  more  than  an  ordinary  person,  this 
Scotch  stone-mason,  and  yet  he  had  been  only  the 
son  of  a  poor  sailor,  who  had  died  while  his  child 
was  very  young,  and  had  left  him  to  the  care  of  two 
uncles,  one  a  harness-maker  and  the  other  a  cart- 
wright.  The  boy  had  been  sent  to  school  from  the 
time  he  was  five  years  "old  until  he  was  seventeen ; 
but  his  masters  drilled  him  principally  in  reading 
and  writing,  and  succeeded  in  teaching  him  very 
little  beside.  Out  of  the  school-room  he  learned 
more  than  within  it.  One  of  his  uncles  instructed 
him  in  natural  history ;  the  other  taught  him  some- 
thing of  the  habits  and  traditions  of  men ;  and  the 
reading  of  all  the  books  which  he  could  obtain,  and 
a  habit  of  observing  carefully  every  thing  worth  the 
noticing,  added  not  a  little  to  his  stock  of  knowledge. 
When  he  became  a  stone-cutter,  earning  his  bread 
by  his  own  labor,  he  read  and  studied  no  less  ear- 
nestly than  before ;  amid  hardships  and  privations 


142  ///>    MI\D. 

of  various  kinds,  still  persevering  in  his  efforts  to 
know  and  to  be  all  that  he  could,  and  meeting  and 
overcoming  the  greatest  obstacles  with  a  firm  and 
dauntless  will.  It  was  no  high  road  to  learning  that 
he  trod,  but  a  difficult  and  solitary  path,  strewn  with 
hinderances  and  often  shaded  in  darkness ;  but  he 
saw  that  at  the  end  were  pleasure  and  honor,  and  lie 
pressed  forward  until  the  end  was  reached.  Now, 
his  name — Hugh  Miller  —  is  a  household  word; 
wherever  the  English  tongue  is  spoken,  his  writings 
are  read  and  admired ;  and  men  of  science  every- 
where revere  the  memory  of  the  great  geologist" 

There  was  something  about  the  story  of  this  Scot- 
tish scholar's  life  which  deeply  interested  James 
Harris,  and  he  did  not  lay  down  the  book  until  the 
last  leaf  had  been  turned  and  the  last  page  read 
through ;  then  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand 
thought.  He  saw  that  to  one,  at  least,  of  his  fellow- 
beings,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  had  been  a  very 
much  more  difficult  thing  than  he  had  ever  imagined 
it  could  be  to  any  one;  and  he  began  to  wonder 
whether,  after  all,  he  ought  not  to  be  glad  that  it  was 
so  easy  for  him  to  obtain  it;  that  he  had  parents 
•who  were  anxious  to  have  him  well  educated  and  in- 


CHANGING    HIS  MIND.  143 

telligent,  and  teachers  who  took  great  pains  to  in- 
struct him,  and  books,  as  many  as  he  could  read,  for 
the  asking.  But  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes 
moralizing  became  rather  dull  work;  James  began 
to  feel  a  little  drowsy  ;  and  very  shortly  he  was  car- 
ried, in  a  dream,  from  the  comfortable  arm-chair  in 
the  library  to  the  side  of  a  high  and  dreary  moun- 
tain. Above  him,  pile  upon  pile  of  gigantic  rocks 
rose  towering  to  the  sky.  Thick  clouds  hid  from 
his  sight  the  valley  below,  and  around  him  he  heard 
the  sound  of  the  clicking  of  the  hammers  of  a  num- 
ber of  stone-masons,  with  whom  he,  strange  to  say, 
was  at  work.  He  seemed  to  be  pounding  indus- 
triously, but  to  no  purpose,  upon  a  huge  stone  which 
lay  before  him ;  and  though  he  again  and  again  re- 
peated to  himself  that  he  was  spending  his  strength 
foolishly,  yet  some  invisible  power  still  kept  him  at 
his  task.  Often  he  attempted  to  break  away:  he 
would  be  happy  anywhere,  he  thought,  if  once  he 
could  leave  that  cold,  dismal  place.  But  that  name- 
less something  kept  him  tapping,  tapping,  until  days, 
weeks,  months  had  passed,  and  he  was  in  despair. 

There  were  men  all  around  him,  but  he  was  un- 
able to  understand  their  language,  or  to  hold  any 


in 

communication  with  them,  and  he  lor  usely 

for  a  sight  of  the  familiar  faces  of  his  pn; 
companions.  He  would  have  given  any  thing  to  be 
back  again  in  his  pleasant  home,  or  at  his  own 
in  school.  And  how  glad  he  would  have  be 
sec  a  book  once  more ;  even  a  grammar  lesson  would 
Ijccii  delightful  compared  with  that  wi-arisome 
tapping,  lie  could  bear  it  no  longer;  he  must  es- 
cape, lie  made  a  last  great  effort  to  do  so,  and — 
awoke.  How  relieved  he  was  to  find  that  his  misery- 
had  been  all  a  dream ;  and  how  quickly  he  jumped 
from  his  chair  to  pick  up  the  book  which  he  had  so 
angrily  cast  from  him  a  couple  of  hours  before.  It 
seemed  to  him  now  like  an  old  friend  ;  he  was  sure 
that  he  would  never  more  consider  it  as  a  task  to  be 
compelled  to  study  it ;  much  less  would  he  ever  com- 
plain that  his  parents  obliged  him  to  attend  school ; 
it  was  really  a  very  pleasant  place,  and  knowledge 
was  worth  obtaining,  since  it  could  make  of  a  poor 
sailor's  son  such  a  man  as  Hugh  Miller.  He  himself 
meant  to  see  what  it  could  make  of  him.  He  would 
rise  early  the  very  next  morning  and  learn  his  lessons 
perfectly;  for  he  knew  now  that,  if  the  advantages 
he  then  enjoyed  should  at  any  time  be  taken  from 


CHANGING   HIS  MIND.  145 

him,  he  would  be  very  sorry  that  he  had  not  im- 
proved them  while  they  were  his. 

So  you  see  that  James  changed  his  mind  concern- 
ing the  importance  of  study.  Perhaps  some  other 
boys  would  do  well  to  follow  his  example. 


XX. 


§«Ui« 


ANE,  call  me  early  to-morrow  morning, 
if  you  please.  Our  teacher  said  he 
wanted  us  all  to  be  at  Sunday-school 
before  it  begins ;  so  I  will  have  to  get  up  about  five 
o'clock,  I  guess.  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Not  quite  so  early,  my  dear,"  Jane  replied  ;  "  but 
I  will  try  to  call  you  in  time." 

"Well,"  said  Nellie;  and  closing  her  eyes,  she 
entered  the  land  of  dreams. 

She  staid  there,  too,  until  long  after  five  o'clock 
the  next  morning,  until  the  sun  had  been  up  a  full 
hour,  and  its  beams  were  already  crowding  through 
the  cracks  of  the  blinds,  and  gilding  the  snow-white 
walls  of  her  room.  She  was  aroused  by  the  voice  of 


NELLIE  SEPTON'S   OBEDIENCE.  147 

her  nurse,  "  Come,  Nellie,  it  is  time  to  get  up,  if  you 
are  going  to  Sunday-school."  Immediately  Nellie 
was  wide  awake,  and,  quickly  dressing  and  taking 
breakfast,  was  soon  on  her  way,  repeating  to  herself, 
as  she  walked,  the  words  of  the  lesson  she  was  to  re- 
cite. The  sky  was  clear  and  beautiful,  and  over- 
flowing with  sunshine ;  but  it  was  a  winter  morning 
nevertheless,  and  when  she  reached  the  school,  the 
hands  and  feet  of  the  little  girl  were  numb  with  the 
cold.  But  she  didn't  mind  that — not  at  all — why 
should  she  ?  She  was  at  the  place  where,  more  than 
at  any  other,  she  delighted  to  be.  Besides,  the 
minute-hand  of  the  clock  over  the  door  had  still  to 
pass  half  around  its  face  before  it  would  point  to  the 
hour  of  nine ;  and  when  the  sound  of  the  bell  on  the 
desk  called  the  children  to  order,  Nellie  had  had 
time  to  become  as  warm  and  comfortable  as  need  be. 
How  pleasant  it  was  there!  she  thought,  with  so 
many  bright-eyed  little  girls  all  around  her,  and  so 
many  bright-eyed  little  boys  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  and  a  superintendent  who  looked  and  was  so 
very  kind,  at  the  desk,  and  all  appearing  so  content- 
ed and  happy.  And  then  every  thing  that  was  said 
and  done  was  exactly  what  she  liked  to  hear  and 


148  XKLLIK  SEPTON'S    OBEDIi:~ 

see.  But  the  singing  —  that  was  the  best  of  all. 
They  sang  for  some  time  hymns  old  and  new — 
hymns  which  had  been  sung  by  thousands  of  chil- 
dren all  over  the  world,  and  hymns  just  written  and 
published — fresh  from  the  mint 

At  length  they  commenced  one  which,  to  judge 
from  the  way  in  which  it  was  shouted  out,  seemed  a 
favorite  with  all.  The  first  verse  ran  thus : 

"  Do  you  know  any  little  barefoot  boy, 

In  a  garret  or  a  cellar, 
Who  shivers  with  cold  and  whose  garments  old 

Will  scarcely  hold  together? 
Qo  bring  him  in  ;  there  is  room  to  spare  ; 

Here  are  food  and  shelter  and  pity  : 
And  we'll  not  shut  the  door  'gainst  one  of  Christ's  poor, 

Though  you  bring  every  child  in  the  city." 

When  they  had  sung  this,  there  was  a  pause,  and 
the  superintendent  said,  "  Children,  I  hope  none  of 
you  will  imagine  that  you  are  through  with  this 
verse  now.  You  have  sung  it,  indeed  ;  but  you 
ought  to  do  more — you  should  obey  it."  And  he 
went  on  to  tell  them  that,  if  they  did  not  already 
know  any  such  children  as  this  "  little  barefoot  boy," 
they  should  each  of  them  try  to  find  one,  at  least, 


NELLIE  SEPTON'S  OBEDIENCE.  149 

and  bring  him  to  the  Sabbath-school ;  and  that,  if 
they  did  this,  they  might  prevent  some  little  ones 
from  growing  up  in  ignorance  and  wickedness,  and 
so  have  this  promise  fulfilled  to  themselves,  "  He 
that  turneth  a  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  ways, 
shall  save  a  soul  from  death,  and  shall  hide  a  multi- 
tude of  sins." 

Nellie  listened  as  attentively  as  though  she  had 
supposed  that  the  words  were  spoken  to  herself 
alone  ;  and,  after  the  school  had  been  dismissed,  and 
she  had  returned  to  her  pleasant  home,  she  called  to 
mind  the  remarks  of  her  teacher,  and  tried  to  think 
whether  among  all  her  friends  there  were  any  so 
poor  and  miserable  as  the  child  described  in  the 
hymn.  But  she  was  unable  to  remember  one;  for 
her  playmates  all  lived  in  comfortable  homes,  and  had 
kind  parents,  who  gave  them  food  and  clothing,  and 
every  thing  else  that  they  had  need  of. 

But  the  next  day  Nellie  made  an  acquaintance. 

"Matches!  matches!  shoe-laces!"  called  a  voice 
through  the  streets.  It  was  a  queer  little  voice,  that 
sounded  as  though  it  had  lost  its  way  in  trying  to 
get  out  of  somebody's  mouth,  and  so  had  come,  very 
much  weakened  and  frightened,  through  his  nose. 


Its  owner  was  a  boy,  apparently  about  twelve  years 
old. 

His  pantaloons,  which  were  very  ragged  and  of  a 
scant  pattern,  scarcely  reached  to  his  anklrs,  leaving 
entirely  uncovered  the  large,  misshapen  feet  that 
moved  but  slowly  over  the  icy  pavements.  Ilia 
brown  jacket,  with  one  very  short  sleeve  of  the  same 
color,  and  one  very  long  one,  taken  from  somebody's 
blue  over-alls,  was  too  thin  to  afford  much,  if  any, 
protection  from  the  cold.  His  freckled  face,  naturally 
round,  flat,  and  smooth,  was  drawn  up  into  innumer- 
able wrinkles  when  he  uttered  his  oft-repeated  cry  of 
"ma-atches!  matches!"  and  his  bushy  red  hair 
surmounted  by  a  cap  that  would  have  been  small  for 
a  child  of  half  his  years.  Altogether,  his  appearance 
was  by  no  means  attractive,  and  as  he  stopped  before 
Mrs.  Septon's  window,  his  evident  wretchedness 
moved  her  to  purchase  some  of  the  articles  so  care- 
fully carried  in  the  long  basket  on  his  arm.  The 
lady,  rightly  guessing  that  he  was  hungry,  went  to 
procure  him  some  breakfast ;  so  Nellie  was  left  alono 
with  him  in  the  hall.  She  stood  silently  eyeing  him 
for  some  time;  but  at  length  a  new  idea  flashed  into 
her  mind,  and  she  summoned  courage  to  speak : 


NELLIE  SEPTON'S   OBEDIENCE.  151 

"  Little  boy,  do  you  live  in  a  garret  ?" 

The  boy  stared,  but  made  no  reply  ;  probably  he 
did  not  know  what  a  garret  was. 

Nellie  persevered.  "  Little  boy,  do  you  live  in  a 
cellar?" 

"  No,  I  stay  nights  on  the  top  floor,  and  days  in 
the  streets." 

"  Are  you  ever  cold  ?" 

"Yes,  most  always." 

"  What's  your  name,  little  boy  ?"  Nellie  would 
call  him  little,  though  she  scarcely  reached  his 
shoulder. 

"Sometimes  they  call  me  Nat,  and  sometimes 
Bub.  I  don't  know  which  is  right.  May  be  both." 

"Well" — Nellie  spoke  slowly — "I  don't  know, 
but  I  guess  you're  the  little  boy  we  sung  about  yes- 
terday. Will  you  go  to  Sunday-school  with  me?" 

"  To  where  ?" 

"  To  Sunday-school." 

"Where's  that?" 

"  Oh !  it's  a  real  nice  place,  where  we  sing,  and 
read  the  Bible,  and  hear  pretty  stories,  and  learn 
how  to  be  good." 

"  Is  it  warm  there  ?" 


152  'I'TOyS   OBEDIEl 


"Yes,  real." 

"Well,  I'll  go." 

So  the  agreement  was  made  ;  and,  after  recei  , 
a  good,  warm  meal  from  her  mother,  and  repeated 
injunctions  from  the  girl  to  "be  sure  to  be  there  in 
time,'1  the  match-boy  went  out  again  into  the  cold. 
He  was  gone,  but  Nellie  did  not  forget  him;  and 
often  through  the  day  she  paused  in  the  midst  of  her 
play  as  the  remembrance  of  the  forlorn-looking  child 
came  to  her  mind. 

She  was  troubled,  and  with  a  trouble  that  was  not 
her  own.  At  last  she  went  to  her  mother  for  help. 
"  Mother,  I  wish  I  had  a  new  coat  for  that  little  boy." 

"Do  you,  my  dear?  Perhaps  he  could  wear 
some  of  your  brother's  clothes.  I  will  try  to  alter  a 
suit  for  him."  So  Nellie's  trouble  was  taken  away, 
and  through  the  rest  of  the  week  she  was  so  happy 
that  the  house  rang  all  day  long  with  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  as  she  sang,  over,  and  over,  and  over 
again  — 

"Do  you  know  any  little  barefoot  boy 
In  a  garret  or  a  cellar?" 

At  last  Sabbath  morning  came,  and  with  it  the 


NELLIE  SEPTON'S   OBEDIENCE.  153 

little  match-boy,  looking  colder,  and  dirtier,  and 
more  ragged  than  ever. 

Jane  locked  herself  into  her  own  room  with  hirn 
for  a  while,  and  brought  him  back  so  changed  that 
Nellie  would  not  have  known  him.  He  was  really 
quite  good-looking,  she  thought,  as  she  almost  ran 
with  him  through  the  street  until  they  reached  the 
Sunday-school.  They  met  the  Superintendent  at  the 
door. 

"  Mr. ,  here's  a  new  scholar  I  brought — thq, 

one  you  told  us  about,  you  know." 

The  "new  scholar"  looked  as  though  he  would 
like  to  run  away,  but  the  kind  words  he  heard  soon 
reassured  him ;  and  at  length  Nellie  was  delighted 
to  see  an  expression  of  real  interest  on  his  face  as 
he  heard  the  lessons  and  hymns  recited  and  sung. 
Without  doubt  every  thing  seemed  very  strange  to 
Nat,  the  poor  match-boy  ;  and  when  his  teacher  be- 
gan to  tell  him  about  heaven,  the  "happy  land" 
where  he  would  some  time  go  if  he  loved  to  do  what 
was  right,  he  began  to  wonder  whether  he  were  not 
there  already. 

Of  course  it  was  not  hard  for  Nellie  to  obtain,  after 
school,  the  promise  that  he  would  "  come  again." 


:  BMPJC  '• 

And  he  kept  his  word.     Sabbath  after  Sabbath 
he  was  found  always  in  his  place,  always  in 
always  with  a  lesson  perfectly  learned.     And  from 
week  to  week  he  altered  for  the  better.     PA'cn  hia 
voice  lost  its  unnatural  tone,  and  his  eyes,  which 
were  before  wild  and  staring,  began  to  wear  a  more 
intelligent  expression,     lie  "changed  his  busi: 
too,  and,  with  the  help  of  his  teacher,  found  a  situa- 
tion as  errand-boy  in  a  respectable  store.     Now 
lie  can  scarcely  believe  that  he  is  the  same  boy 
excited  her  pity  on  that  cold  winter  morning,  which 
seems  to  her  to  have  been  long  ago.     It  is  true  that 
no  one  can  tell  what  his  future  will  be ;  but  faithful, 
honest,  and  industrious  as  he  now  is,  learning  every 
week  lessons  of  wisdom  from  the  Book  of  books, 
placed  under  the  care  of  those  who  love  to  obey  the 
command,  "  Feed  my  lambs,"  it  would  be  strange  if 
he  should  grow  to  be  any  thing  other  than  a  good 
and  useful  man.    Of  Nellie,  it  can  only  be  said  that 
"  she  did  what  she  could." 


XXI. 


HEN  Fanny  Ellerly  was  a  very  little  girl, 
only  a  few  months  old,  she  began  to 
show  that  she  had  what  her  nurse  called 
"  a  mind  of  her  own."  The  first  evidence  of  this 
was  found  in  the  fact  that  it  was  her  habit  to  utter 
sundry  very  unmusical  cries  whenever  any  unfortu- 
nate mortal  endeavored  to  coax  her  into  dreamland 
before  she  considered  it  the  proper  time  for  going 
thither.  Her  "  signs  of  resistance  "  upon  these  occa- 
sions, if  they  did  not  always  secure  her  the  victory 
in  the  conflict  that  was  sure  to  ensue,  were,  at  least, 
sufficient  to  prove  that  the  will  of  the  young  lady 
who  made  them  was  a  thing  not  to  be  lightly  spoken 
of  nor  easily  subdued.  This  state  of  affairs  came  at 


156  ••/  WILL." 

length  to  be  so  well  understood  that,  when  visitors 
asked,  as  they  often  did,  "Is  not  your  babe 
good,  Mrs.  Ellerly  ?"  the  reply  most  frequently  given 
was,  "  Oh  I  yes,  very — only  she  likes  to  have  her 
own  way  sometimes." 

When  Fanny  grew  older  and  left  the  nursery  for 
the  school-room,  it  was  not  long  before  her  teacher 
discovered  that  what  the  little  girl  had  once  resolved 
upon,  it  was  a  difficult  matter  to  prevent  her  from 
doing.  This  determination  of  hers  was  indeed  some- 
times a  great  assistance  in  her  studies ;  for  it  enabled 
her  to  learn  easily  and  well  lessons  that  the  other 
scholars  were  satisfied  with  saying  were  "so  hard 
that  they  couldn't  understand  them."  But  then,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  was  often  quite  as  much  of  a  hin- 
derance  to  her  when  it  happened  that,  for  some  unac- 
countable reason,  her  perseverance  would  suddenly 
change  into  obstinacy,  and  she  would  declare  that 
she  could  not,  should  not,  and  would  not  do  perhaps 
some  very  little  thing  that  her  teacher  had  required 
of  her. 

So,  too,  in  regard  to  her  schoolmates.  Fanny's 
"  will "  was  very  convenient  when  there  was  a  spe- 
cial favor  to  be  obtained  or  a  hazardous  undertaking 


"I  WILL."  157 

to  be  performed ;  for  it  invariably  made  her  their 
leader,  and  usually  a  triumphant  one.  But  then  it 
was  not  quite  so  pleasant  when  Fanny  insisted  upon 
directing  all  their  sports ;  telling  them  just  how  and 
what  to  play,  and  compelling  them  always  to  do  just 
as  she  wished,  without  once  being  willing  to  yield 
any  thing  to  them.  She  would  have  been  highly 
indignant  if  they  had  called  her  selfish ;  she  would 
have  freely  bestowed  upon  them  her  favorite  books 
and  the  toys  she  most  prized  if  they  had  desired 
them ;  but  not  an  iota  of  her  darling  will  would  she 
have  given  up,  to  please  even  her  dearest  friend. 

At  home  it  was  very  much  the  same.  Fanny 
loved  her  parents,  she  believed,  with  all  her  heart ; 
she  would,  indeed,  have  done  any  thing  for  them — 
provided  always  that  they  allowed  her  to  do  it  at  the 
time  she  liked  best,  at  the  place  she  chose,  and  in 
her  own  way.  Certainly  she  loved  them  both  most 
fondly,  but  not  enough  to  look  up  with  a  smile  and 
say,  "  Well,  papa,  you  know  best,"  when  her  father 
denied  her  any  thing  she  had  asked  him  for,  or  to 
leave  her  book  or  play  with  a  cheerful  face  when  her 
mother  requested  her  to  watch  her  little  brother 
awhile,  or  to  do  an  errand  for  her. 


•   /    WILL." 

The  truth  :  :  anny  1<>\  '.. -r  any  body 

nor  any  thing  so  much  o.s  licr  own  will — the  will 
that,  though  it  was  sometimes  of  service  in  helping 
her  to  overcome  difficulties,  was  more  of  an  injury 
to  her  than  a  benefit,  because  it  made  her  exceeding- 
ly selfish,  tyrannical  toward  her  companions, 
even  occasionally  disobedient  to  her  parents.  Once 
it  brought  her  into  a  trouble  which  she  never  after- 
ward forgot,  and  from  the  effects  of  which  it  took 
her  a  long  time  to  recover.  "  Fanny  1"  called  her 
father  one  morning,  "come  here;  I  have  somct 
to  show  you,"  Fanny  ran  out  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  and  found  there,  standing  by  her  father's 
a  beautiful  little  Shetland  pony.  It  had  a  dark 
chestnut-brown  color,  a  long,  shaggy  mane  and  tail, 
large  black  eyes,  that  seemed  brimful  of  gentleness 
and  kindness,  and  was  of  just  the  right  height  for  a 
little  girl  to  ride  it  without  danger. 

"  Oh  !  what  a  splendid  pony !"  exclaimed  Fanny, 
running  to  him  and  beginning  to  stroke  his  side. 
"  You  dear,  good  papa,  to  get  me  such  a  beautiful 
present  Let  me  get  on  him  right  away,  will  you  ?'' 
Her  father  smiled  at  her  eagerness,  but  replied  that 
the  side-saddle  which  he  had  ordered  had  not  yet  ar- 


"I  WILL."  159 

rived,  and  his  little  girl  must  wait  for  lier  ride  until 
it  should  come. 

"  Oh. !  I  don't  want  any  saddle.  I  can  ride  with- 
out any,"  said  Fanny.  But  her  father  thought  diffe- 
rently ;  so  after  the  pony  had  been  admired  and  ca- 
ressed, and  a  dozen  different  names — none  of  which 
were  considered  half  good  enough  for  him — had 
been  discussed,  he  was  led  away  to  the  stable.  But 
Fanny  was  not  satisfied.  "  I  don't  see  why  I  couldn't 
have  had  just  one  ride.  I  think  pa's  real  unkind 
not  to  let  me."  These  were  her  first  thoughts  after 
her  father  had  given  her  a  "  good-by"  kiss  and  hur- 
ried off  to  his  business. 

Her  next  thought  was,  that  she  might  be  able  to 
induce  her  mother  to  allow  her  to  do  as  she  desired. 
So  to  her  mother  she  went. 

"  Ma,  mayn't  I  just  get  on  the  pony's  back  a  min- 
ute ?"  "  No,  my  dear,  it  would  not  be  safe."  "  Oh ! 
yes  it  would,  ma.  I  think  you  might  let  me." 
"  Fanny,  you  heard  what  I  said."  st  I  don't  care. 
I  will  do  it  any  way."  "Fanny,  I  forbid  you  to  go 
near  the  pony  until  your  father  comes  home :  then 
you  may  do  as  he  says."  Fanny  went  away  pout- 
ing, and  looking  very  unamiable.  "  I  don't  see  what 


!•'•"  "/    H7/./..-' 

harm  it  would  be,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  I  mean 
to  do  it  if  I  can."  If  she  could  only  have  known 
how  she  grieved  her  kind  mother,  and  how  much 
more  she  grieved  her  heavenly  Friend,  of  whom  it 
is  written  that  when  he  was  a  child  upon  earth  he 
s  subject  unto"  his  parents,  giving  us  in  this  as 
in  all  other  things  "an  example  that  we  should 
follow  in  his  steps" — she  would  even  then  have 
said,  "I  will  not  be  so  naughty  any  longer.  I 
will  give  up  my  own  inclinations.  I  will  not  dis- 
obey my  mother."  But  no,  she  did  not  think  of 
the  sorrow  in  her  mother's  heart ;  she  did  not  heed 
the  voice  that  says,  "Children,  obey  your  parents 
in  the  Lord ;"  she  was  determined  to  do  wickedly. 
She  was  very  quiet  for  a  while,  considering  how  she 
might  best  accomplish  her  purpose,  and  Mrs.  Ellerly, 
believing  that  her  child  was  sorry  for  the  disrespect- 
ful words  she  had  spoken,  and  had  resolved  to  be  a 
better  girl,  went  down-stairs  to  receive  some  morn- 
ing calls.  But  Fanny's  determination  was  un- 
changed. "  Now  is  my  time,"  she  thought,  as  the 
door  closed  behind  her  mother ;  and  then,  without 
waiting  for  her  hat  or  coat,  she  ran  out  to  the  stable. 


"I  WILL."  161 

She  found  the  pony  standing  quietly  in  his  stall, 
looking  like  meekness  itself. 

"  How  silly  it  is  to  be  afraid  to  have  me  get  on 
him.  Just  as  if  I  were  a  baby  !  I'll  show  them  how 
I  can  ride."  So  saying,  she  unfastened  the  pony  and 
led  him  out  into  the  yard.  "  Now,  pony,  you  kneel 
down  and  let  me  get  on  your  back."  But  the  ani- 
mal did  not  seem  to  understand  this  command ;  at 
all  events,  he  declined  to  obey  it.  Finding  that  she 
could  not  persuade  him  to  kneel,  she  led  him  to  a 
wheelbarrow  that  was  standing  near  by,  and  by  the 
help  of  this  she  at  length  contrived,  but  with  great 
difficulty,  to  mount  upon  his  back.  Now  she  felt 
triumphant ;  she  would  not  have  exchanged  places 
with  General  Grant  himself.  She  was  actually  on 
horseback,  and  all  that  remained  to  be  done  was  to 
ride.  "  Come,  pony,  turn  around  this  way  I"  and 
she  jerked  his  mane  vigorously ;  but  pony  did  not 
stir.  "  Come,  pony,  turn !"  and  she  jerked  still  hard- 
er. Pony  threw  up  one  foot  into  the  air — he  evi- 
dently had  a  will  as  well  as  his  owner.  "  Pony,  go 
along !"  and  Fanny  slapped  his  neck  with  both  hands. 
This  was  too  much  of  an  indignity,  and  the  pony, 
with  a  sudden  shake,  threw  his  young  rider  from  his 


back,  ami  walked  leisurely  into  the  stable.  A 
Fanny,  she  bad  touched  the  wheelbarrow  in  her  fall, 
and  it  upset  upon  her  just  as  she  reached  the  ground. 
There  the  coachman  found  her,  half  an  hour  after- 
ward, scarcely  able  to  breathe  beneath  the  heavy 
weight,  and  faint  from  the  pain  of  a  broken  ankle. 
lie  carried  her  to  the  house,  and  laid  her  upon  the 
bt/tl  in  her  own  room,  where  she  had  to  lie  perfectly 
still  for  many  a  long  week,  and  have  doctors  come 
around  her  and  hurt  her,  and  suffer  a  great  deal. 
But  one  day  as  she  lay  there  she  said :  "  Mother,  I 
am  glad  I  broke  my  ankle.  I  think  it  was  God's 
way  of  teaching  me  that  it  is  wrong  for  me  to  say,  I 
will.  I  see  now  that  I  ought  to  try  to  do  as  he 
wants  me  to,  and  I  know  it  is  his  will  that  I  should 
mind  you  and  father."  Before  Fanny  was  able  to 
walk  once  more,  she  learned  that  it  was  not  only 
right  to  obey  her  parents  in  all  things,  but  that  it 
really  made  her  happier  to  sometimes  give  up  her 
own  desires  in  order  to  gratify  her  friends  and  asso- 
ciates. This  discovery  made  her  a  better  daughter, 
a  better  pupil,  a  better  companion,  and  never  again 
was  she  heard  to  say  in  angry  obstinacy,  "  I  will." 


XXII. 


ELLIB  RAYMOND  had  taken  possession 
for  the  time  being  of  her  father's  easy- 
chair.  It  was  drawn  close  to  the  library- 
table,  upon  which  was  placed  a  book  still  open,  evi- 
dently just  laid  aside.  Seated,  or  rather  reclining, 
within  the  hospitable  arms  of  the  chair,  her  head 
thrown  back  among  the  cushions,  and  her  feet  ex- 
tended upon  an  ottoman,  she  looked  the  very  per- 
sonification of  laziness.  But,  to  tell  the  truth,  Nel- 
lie had  never  been  so  hard  at  work  in  her  life.  She 
had  been  reading  until  the  lengthening  shadows  of 
the  short  winter  day  made  such  a  proceeding  at  least 
imprudent;  reading  in  her  favorite  story-book,  a 
very  old  one,  although  the  cover  was  still  unsullied, 


164  /.//;  A>.\  .  - 

and  the  brightness  of  its  gilt-edged  leaves  had  not 
jrown  dim.  And  she  had  chosen  the  story  she 
most  loved  of  the  many  it  contained — how  One, 
"  who  thought  it  not  robbery  to  be  equal  with  God," 
had  condescended  to  bo  laid,  a  helpless  babe,  in 
Bethlehem's  manger;  how  Joseph  had  been  com- 
pelled to  "  take  the  young  child,  and  Mary,  his  mo- 
ther, and  flee  into  Egypt,"  in  order  to  avoid  the  cru- 
elty of  a  wicked  king ;  and  how  Jesus  "  increased 
in  wisdom  and  stature,  and  in  favor  with  God  and 
man."  And  then,  passing  on  a  little  farther,  she  had 
read  the  wondrous  tale  of  Golgotha  and  Calvary,  the 
things  which  were  written  that,  "  believing,  we  might 
have  life,"  concerning  him  who  "  died,  and  revived, 
and  rose  again,"  and  ascended  to  the  right  hand  of 
God  the  Father.  And  now  Nellie  was  trying  very 
hard  to  think  how  she  could  show  her  love  to  One 
whose  love  was  so  much  greater  than  hers  could 
ever  be. 

It  was  usually  easy  for  her  to  speak  kindly  to  her 
brothers  and  sisters,  to  obey  her  father  and  mother, 
and  to  do  whatever  her  teacher  might  require. 

But  she  wanted  to  do  something  that  would  cost 
her  an  effort ;  something  that  would  seem  like  real 


NELLIE  RAYMOND'S  WORK.  165 

work  for  her  Master,  and  she  could  think  of  nothing 
at  all.  All  the  boys  and  girls  whom  she  knew  went 
to  Sabbath-school  regularly,  and  lived  in  comfortable 
homes,  where  all  their  wants  were  well  supplied ;  and 
she  was  not  certain  that  she  had  ever  heard  of  any 
blind  old  woman  to  whom  she  might  read  the  Bible, 
and  carry  delicacies,  and  prove  herself  a  ministering 
angel.  So  the  longer  she  thought,  the  more  her 
trouble  increased,  the  more  positive  she  was  that 
there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do. 

"What!  Nellie,  my  child,  sitting  here  in  the 
dark?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Kaymond,  just  then  coming 
in,  and  almost  alarmed  to  find  his  usually  active  lit- 
tle daughter  sitting  perfectly  quiet  and  all  alone,  in- 
stead of  being  foremost  to  welcome  him  when  he 
entered  the  door  of  his  home.  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  Are  you  sick,  or  tired,  or  sleepy,  or  lazy  ? 
Come,  get  a  light,  and  look  at  the  picture  I  have 
brought  you." 

Nellie  sprang  up  to  do  as  she  was  desired,  but  was 
rather  surprised  to  find  that  the  picture  contained  no 
cherubs'  wings  nor  baby  faces,  and  neither  lake  nor 
mountain,  flower  nor  tree. 

In  the  foreground  was  a  perfectly  plain  table, 


166  i;.iYMn.\ifs 

covered  over  with  writing  materials,  and  around  it 
were  seated,  pen  in  hand,  a  number  of  strangely 
dressed  men,  with  small  eyes,  low  foreheads,  high 
:ind  long  cues  hanging  from  the  backs 
of  their  heads.  Only  one  of  them  looked  as  though 
he  might  have  come  from  some  part  of  the  civili/ed 
world,  and  he  was  dressed  in  the  same  outlandish 
costume  as  the  rest 

Nellie  could  not  imagine  why  her  father  had 
bought  such  a  very  uninteresting  picture,  with  noth- 
ing pretty  about  it  at  all. 

"  What  a  queer-looking  set  of  men  !  Where  do 
they  live?  What  are  they  doing?  Who  is  that 
one  in  the  middle  ?  What  are  those — " 

(:  Wait  a  minute,  my  daughter.  One  question  at 
a  time.  These  men  are  Chinese.  That  one  in  the 
centre  is  Robert  Morrison,  an  English  missionary. 
It  is  only  sixty  years  since  he  left  his  home  and  set 
sail  for  China ;  but  he  was  the  first  Protestant  mis- 
sionary who  went  to  teach  the  people  of  that  coun- 
try the  way  of  salvation.  Upon  reaching  the  city 
of  Canton,  he  found  himself  in  a  land  where  were 
more  than  three  hundred  millions  of  men,  women, 
and  children,  living  in  heathenism  and  wickedness; 


NELLIE  RAYMOND'S  WORK  167 

and  he,  with  the  exception  of  one  friendly  native, 
was  all  alone,  with  no  helper  but  his  God.  What 
could  he  do  among  so  many  ?  He  certainly  could 
not  preach  personally  to  all  those  three  hundred 
millions.  But  one  thing  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
do  for  them :  he  would  translate  the  Bible  into  their 
language,  in  order  that  they  might  all  read  for  them- 
selves the  truths  which  he  had  been  sent  to  teach 
them.  So  he  hired  a  retired  room,  dressed  himself 
in  the  costume  of  the  natives — for  it  was  necessary 
to  be  cautious  in  order  to  escape  persecution — and 
then  went  to  work.  In  the  picture  you  see  him  en- 
gaged in  translating,  with  his  assistants  around  him. 
His  undertaking  was  by  no  means  an  easy  one ;  for 
in  Chinese  writing  eight  or  ten  thousand  characters 
are  employed  instead  of  the  twenty-six  of  our  alpha- 
bet, and  all  these  must  be  used  in  their  proper  place. 
Dr.  Morrison  labored  at  first  amid  many  difficulties, 
but  after  a  time  more  help  was  procured,  and  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years  of  patient  toil  his  task  was  ac- 
complished. From  that  time  the  Chinese  have  been 
able  to  read  in  their  own  tongue  the  wonderful 
works  of  God.  They  have  been  slow  to  leave  their 
idols  in  order  to  embrace  the  Christian  religion ;  but 


168  M-I.LII-:  /:,:  r:-/" .Y//.V  WORK. 

we  hope  it  will  not  be  long  before  they  learn  to 
the  Saviour  whom  we  worship,  and  to  adore  the  God 
whom  they,  as  well  as  we,  are  bound  to  serve.  Af- 
ter living  in  China  as  a  missionary  for  more  than 
twenty-five  years,  Dr.  Morrison  died,  leaving  a  name 
more  honorable  than  those  who  have  conquered 
whole  empires  that  they  might  increase  their  own 
glory ;  for  he  lived  in  obedience  to  the  command, 
'  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.'  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  and  teach  the  heathen,  too," 
said  Nellie. 

"Perhaps  you  can  some  day,  if  your  life  is  spared ; 
but  in  the  mean  time,  I  know  of  at  least  one  hea- 
then whom  you  might  instruct,  and  she  lives  much 
nearer  than  India,  or  China,  or  Japan." 

"Where  is  it?    I  will  go  and  see  her  right  away." 

"  Well,  you  will  have  to  go  no  farther  than  to  the 
kitchen ;  for  Katy  certainly  needs  to  be  taught  as 
much  as  though  her  skin  were  dark,  and  her  dress 
strange,  and  she  lived  thousands  of  miles  away. 
Don't  you  remember  her  saying  the  other  day  how 
much  she  wished  that  she  knew  how  to  read  ?" 

"  Yes,  father,  but  it  would  take  a  good  while  to 
teach  her,  she  is  so  slow  to  learn." 


NELLIE  RAYMOND'S  WORK.  169 

"  Certainly,  Nellie,  but  you  must  have  patience 
and  perseverance ;  and,  if  you  really  want  to  do 
good,  you  will  not  be  afraid  of  a  little  trouble  and 
self-denial." 

"Well,  I  will  try,"  said  the  little  girl;  "I  will 
begin  to-night." 

And  Nellie  did  try  and  did  succeed,  though  some- 
times her  patience  was  almost  exhausted,  and  some- 
times it  seemed  as  though  Katy  could  not  or  would 
not  learn ;  and  often  it  would  have  been  far  plea- 
santer  to  have  been  playing  games  with  her  brothers 
and  sisters  than  to  be  bending  over  that  tedious 
spelling-book. 

But  at  length,  when  Katy  was  able  to  stammer 
through  the  first  chapter  of  John,  and  to  say,  with 
gladness  beaming  on  her  countenance,  "I  am  so 
much  happier,  Miss  Nellie,  since  you  taught  me  to 
read,"  Nellie  felt  that  her  labor  had  not  been  in  vain. 
The  first  and  best  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  love. 


xxnr. 

What      jrte  the 


IZZIE  LORRAINE'S  father  was  what  is 
called  a  prosperous  merchant.  His  firm 
was  considered  one  of  the  safest  in  the 
city;  his  name  and  credit  stood  high  in  the  estima- 
tion of  all  who  knew  him,  and  his  home  was  one  of 
the  most  elegant  which  wealth  and  good  taste  com- 
bined were  able  to  procure.  Altogether,  his  situation 
was  regarded  as  most  enviable  by  the  less  fortunate 
men  around  him,  excepting,  perhaps,  by  the  few 
wiser  than  himself  who  had  paused  to  think  upon 
the  question,  "  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  shall 
gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul?" 

Lizzie,  his  only  daughter,  was,  by  both  her  pa- 
rents, petted  and  caressed,  humored  in  all  her  whims 
and  fancies,  continually  laden  with  gifts,  and  treated 


WHAT  MADE   THE  DIFFERENCE?         171 

very  much  as  a  pretty  plaything  made  to  amuse  and 
to  be  amused,  rather  than  as  an  immortal  being  to 
be  trained  for  the  service  and  glory  of  God.  Of 
course,  it  was  not  strange  that  all  this  indulgence 
had  injured  the  child's  temper,  and  made  her,  as  her 
mother  secretly  believed,  a  very  little  selfish ;  yet  it 
was  not  on  this  account  discontinued. 

"  Why  should  we  not  try  to  please  Lizzie  when- 
ever it  is  possible  ?"  Mr.  Lorraine  would  say  to  his 
wife.  "  I  do  love  to  see  the  little  thing  happy."  So 
when  Lizzie's  birthday  approached,  the  important 
day  upon  which  she  was  to  be  really  seven  years 
old,  many  were  the  plans  laid  for  her  entertainment. 

First,  and  most  important  in  the  arrangements  for 
the  celebration  of  the  event,  was  a  party,  to  which 
all  her  schoolmates  and  companions  were  to  be  in- 
vited, and  at  which  were  to  be  flowers  and  music, 
dancing  and  feasting.  Lizzie  was  delighted  with  the 
prospect  before  her,  with  the  vision  of  costly  dresses, 
and  brilliantly  lighted  rooms  and  a  crowd  of  polite 
little  gentlemen  and  ladies,  bowing  and  smiling,  and 
trying  to  behave  in  all  things  as  they  imagined  their 
fathers  and  mothers  would  do  if  placed  in  similar 
circumstances. 


172          WIT  AT  MADE    THE  DIFFER  KXCK? 

The  long-desired  evening  came  at  last,  and  Lizzie 
was  pleased,  as  she  had  expected  to  be.  Yet  per- 
haps her  happiness  was  not  quite  so  perfect  as  one 
might  have  supposed ;  for,  terrible  to  relate,  the  dis- 
covery had  been  made,  too  late  to  be  remedied,  that 
a  very  insignificant  trifle  about  her  own  attire  was 
not  in  the  very  latest  style ;  and,  in  the  next  place, 
she  was  almost  too  fatigued  from  the  excitement  of 
preparation  to  enjoy  the  dancing  as  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  do :  and  then  her  guests  were  not  all  of 
them  thoroughly  polite  after  all ;  for  Minnie  Smith 
said,  in  a  whisper  quite  loud  enough  for  Lizzie  to 
hear,  that  she  thought  Lizzie  Lorraine's  taste  was 
very  poor  indeed ;  and  Ilarry  Smith,  after  inviting 
her  to  dance,  actually  left  her  when  he  saw  Lucy 
.  liis  particular  friend,  standing  by  the  wall  with- 
out a  partner. 

But  worse  than  all  this  was  the  experience  of  the 
next  day,  when  Jane  was  cross  because  the  little  girl 
did  not  rise  so  early  as  usual ;  and  her  father  went 
off  to  his  business  without  giving  her  his  morning 
kiss ;  and  her  mother  declared  that  "she  hoped  they 
would  never  have  a  party  again,  the  excitement  was 
so  trying  to  one's  nerves;"  and  Lizzie  herself  felt 


WHAT  MADE   THE  DIFFERENCE f         173 

out  of  humor  with  every  body  and  every  thing — a 
certain  seven-year-old  young  lady  included. 

She  did  not  feel  like  studying,  so  going  to  school 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  Her  mother  was  too  tired 
to  ride  out,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  any  of  her 
friends  would  call  to  see  her. 

Of  course,  her  games  and  toys  were  useless  if  she 
had  no  one  to  share  them  with  her,  and  she  never 
could  bear  to  practice  on  the  piano. 

The  list  of  possible  amusements  for  the  day  was 
growing  exceedingly  small,  until  at  last  a  bright 
thought  struck  Lizzie's  mind. 

"  Come,  Jane,"  said  she,  "  I  want  to  take  a  walk. 
Get  ready  and  go  with  me,  will  you  ?" 

Jane  was  pleased  with  any  plan  which  could  re- 
lieve her  of  the  duty  of  finding  entertainment  for  her 
somewhat  troublesome  charge,  so  the  walk  was  agreed 
upon. 

"  Where  shall  we  go,  Miss  Lizzie  ?  To  the  park, 
I  suppose." 

"  Oh  !  no,  I'm  tired  of  the  sight  of  that  old  park. 
Come  down  this  way,  and  let  us  look  at  the  store- 
windows.  I  want  to  see  something  new." 

Jane  turned  obligingly  in  the  direction  indicated 


WHAT   MAD/-:    THE   Ull'l'I-ll. 

by  the  little  girl,  and  the  two  walked  on  briskly, 
only  pausing  now  and  then  to  a'lmire  the  attractions 
of  some  gayly  decorated  window. 

Stopping  before  one  more  magniGcent  in  its  dis- 
play than  the  rest,  Lizzie  noticed  near  it  a  small,  low 
stand,  covered  with  shoe-laces,  penny  songs,  and 
other  articles  of  small  value.  Behind  it  was  a  small 
object  which  occasioned  in  Lizzie's  mind  some  doubt 
whether  it  might  be  a  little  girl  or  a  very  old  wo- 
man— so  pinched  were  the  features  with  the  piercing 
cold,  and  so  marked  was  the  brow  with  the  traces  of 
care  and  suffering.  Her  clothing  could  not  help  to 
resolve  the  difficulty ;  for  her  head  was  enveloped  in 
a  quilted  hood,  so  large  that  the  cape  covered  her 
shoulders;  around  her  was  a  thin,  faded  shawl, 
which  looked  as  though  it  might  have  come  over 
in  the  Ilalf-Moon  or  the  Mayflower ;  and  her  ragged 
dress  hung  about  her  in  scanty  folds,  and  was  then 
gathered  tightly  around  her  feet.  Lizzie  was,  indeed, 
sorely  perplexed  in  what  light  to  regard  this  pitiful 
object,  until,  drawing  nearer,  she  saw  the  pale  lips 
begin  to  move,  and  then  heard  sung,  in  a  clear,  child- 
ish voice,  the  words : 


WHAT  MADE   THE  DIFFERENCE?         175 

"  Jesus  loves  me.     This  I  know  ; 
For  the  Bible  tells  me  so." 

"Little  girl,"  interrupted  Lizzie,  "is  that  one  of 
the  songs  on  those  papers  ?" 

The  child  was  evidently  too  engaged  with  her 
own  thoughts  to  notice  any  thing  around  her;  so 
she  went  on  singing : 

"  He  will  love  me  when  I  die, 
Take  me  home  to  him  on  high." 

Lizzie  repeated  her  question.  "  All  the  new  songs 
that's  goin',  mum,  only  one  cent  apiece.  I  have 
laces,  two  pair  for  three  cents.  Eattles,  apples, 
whistles,  very  cheap,"  was  the  startled  but  rather  in- 
appropriate reply. 

"  Miss  Lizzie  wants  to  know,"  said  Jane,  coming 
to  the  help  of  her  charge,  "  was  it  one  of  these  songs 
you  were  singing?" 

"  Oh !  no,"  answered  the  child,  her  face  growing 
suddenly  bright;  "it's  one  I  learned  in  the  school 
yonder,  and  I  sing  it  most  days  when  I  sit  here  by 
myself;  it  makes  me  feel  glad  like." 

Lizzie  wondered  how  any  one  so  poor  as  her  new 
acquaintance  could  ever  feel  glad  about  any  thing. 


17t;          WHAT  MADE   THE  DIFFERENCE  t 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  girl  ?" 

•'Marguerite;  and  little  sis's  name  is  Emma.  I 
take  care  of  her  and  me,  and  a  gentleman  lets  us 
sleep  down  cellar ;  and  she  goes  to  the  school  every 
day,  and  Sundays  we  both  go  together.  And  wo 
have  such  nice  times ;  it's  so  warm  there  ;  and  that's 
where  I  learned  to  sing,  and  I  got  this  book  there,  I 
did." 

She  drew  from  her  pocket  a  small,  worn  Testa- 
ment, and  looked  upon  it  with  an  expression  which 
told,  better  than  words  could  have  done,  how  she 
had  learned  to  love  it. 

"  This  tells  what  the  song  means,  you  know,  and 
about  the  place  where  He  lives.  It  must  be  beauti- 
ful up  there." 

"  Come,  Miss  Lizzie,"  said  Jane ;  "  what  would 
your  ma  say  to  see  you  talking  here  to  a  little  beg- 
gar ?  I'll  give  her  some  pennies  to  get  her  dinner 
witlu  and  we  must  go  home." 

Lizzie  turned  away  with  a  feeling  of  regret ;  she 
had  intended  to  ask  Marguerite  the  name  of  the  book 
which  could  make  a  poor  child  appear  so  much  hap- 
pier than  she  herself  was,  with  all  her  friends  and 
many  pleasures.  Why  was  it  that  she  should  feel 


WHAT  MADE   THE  DIFFERENCE?         177 

restless  and  discontented,  while  a  little  friendless  girl 
could  sit  and  sing  with  very  gladness  in  the  cold, 
comfortless  street  ? 

Lizzie  did  not  know  that  it  was  the  knowledge 
which  Marguerite  had  obtained  of  "a  Friend  who 
sticketh  closer  than  a  brother"  that  caused  her  to 
forget  the  troubles  of  this  world  in  thinking  of  the 
heaven  to  which  he  would  guide  her  at  last.  "  The 
fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  joy." 


XXIV. 


with  ft 


MISERY !  thou  art  to  be  my  only  por- 
tion !  Father  of  mercy,  forgive  me  if 
I  wish  I  had  never  been  born  I  Oh ! 
that  I  were  dead,  if  death  were  an  annihilation  of 
being ;  but  as  it  is  not,  teach  me  to  endure  life — to 
enjoy  it  I  never  can." 

Had  these  words  been  written  by  a  man  who  had 
passed  through  many  years  of  suffering ;  who  had 
seen  all  his  hopes  destroyed  and  all  his  loved  ones 
perish ;  who  was  worn  by  multiplied  cares  and  enfee- 
bled by  manifold  trials  ;  whose  only  hope  of  rest  or 
peace  was  in  the  grave — though  we  could  hardly 
even  then  think  them  right — we  might  still  con 
them  as  the  natural  expressions  of  a  heart  sunk  in 


A    STORY  WITH  A    MEANING.  179 

hopeless  despair.  But  when  we  are  told  that  they 
were  written  by  a  mere  boy — by  one  who  had  not 
yet  passed  "  youth's  sunny  season ;"  who  still  heard 
the  whispers  of  hope  in  his  soul ;  who  had  laid  bright 
plans  for  a  life  of  usefulness,  if  not  of  happiness,  it  is 
difficult  to  believe  that  what  we  read  is  true.  And 
yet  these  were  words  penned  during  his  boyhood  by 
Dr.  John  Kitto,  who  became  in  after-years  one  of 
the  most  noted  Bible  students  whom  England  has 
numbered  among  her  men  of  learning.  One  can 
readily  imagine  that,  at  the  time  of  writing  such  lines 
as  these,  he  must  have  felt  himself  in  unusual  trou- 
ble. And  well  he  might ;  for  to  be  poor,  friendless, 
ill-treated,  and  withal  totally  deaf  and  almost  dumb, 
as  he  was,  is  to  be  in  a  condition  which  God  in  his 
mercy  has  called  few  others  to  experience.  The 
boy's  whole  history  was  a  sad  one,  but  it  may  teach 
us  a  lesson  which  we  need  to  learn.  Until  he 
reached  his  twelfth  year  he  had  been  able,  like  other 
children,  to  hear  the  voices  of  his  friends,  the  sweet 
songs  of  the  birds,  and  all  the  pleasant  sounds  with 
which  the  air  is  filled.  But  at  that  age  his  ears  were 
closed,  never  more  on  earth  to  be  opened.  He  lost 
his  hearing  by  an  accident  which  happened  in  this 
way. 


180  A    STORY   WlllI    A 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  day.  From  the 
morning  until  then  the  child  had  been  working  with 
his  father,  whose  trade  was  that  of  a  mason,  and  who 
was  engaged  at  the  time  upon  the  roof  of  a  building 
of  more  than  average  height  It  was  the  duty  of  the 
boy  to  ascend  again  and  again  the  ladder  which 
reached  from  the  ground  to  the  roof,  as  he  carried  to 
his  father  the  materials  required  for  use.  Already 
he  had  mounted  many  times ;  soon  his  task  would 
be  ended,  and  he  would  go  home  to  enjoy  the  even- 
ing meal  and  the  rest  made  sweet  by  labor.  But 
truly  we  know  not  what  an  hour  or  a  moment  may 
bring  forth.  Just  as  his  work  was  almost  finished, 
just  as  he  had  gained  the  highest  round  of  the  ladder 
for  nearly  the  last  time,  his  foot  slipped,  and  lie  fell 
a  distance  of  many  feet  to  the  pavement  below.  He 
found  there  lying  senseless,  was  carried  home, 
and  for  two  weeks  knew  nothing.  When  he  awoke 
from  his  long  sleep,  a  strange  stillnes  >>und 

him ;  he  could  sec  the  moving  lips  of  those  about 
him,  but  not  a  word  that  they  spoke  was  he  able  to 
distinguish — his  sense  of  hearing  was  destroyed.  It 
was  not  long  before,  forgetting,  perhaps,  the  sound 
of  language,  and  unable  to  perceive  whether  he  spoke 


A   STOUT  WITH  A    MEANING.  181 

correctly  or  not,  he  lost,  in  a  measure,  the  power  of 
speech,  and  could  make  himself  understood  only  by 
signs  or  writing.  This  sudden  affliction  was  indeed 
great ;  but  the  old  saying  that  "  troubles  never  come 
singly"  was  in  his  case  to  be  verified,  and  he  was 
was  called  to  further  sorrow.  His  grandmother,  with 
whom  he  had  previously  lived,  dying,  left  him  with- 
out a  home.  His  father,  a  man  of  dissipated  habits, 
failed  to  provide  for  his  son,  and  the  deaf-mute  was 
sent  to  the  workhouse.  There  he  was  taught  the  art 
of  making  shoes,  and  was,  after  a  time,  apprenticed 
by  the  workhouse  authorities  to  a  shoemaker.  This 
man  proved  to  be  a  most  cruel  master,  who  struck 
the  boy  when  he  made  a  wrong  stitch,  pounded  his 
head  with  a  hammer  upon  slight  provocation,  and 
ill-treated  him,  in  many  ways.  It  was  during  this 
trying  apprenticeship  that  the  boy  penned  the  lines 
found  above,  which  express  a  degree  of  misery  al- 
most impossible  to  be  realized  by  those  who,  in  com- 
fortable homes,  enjoy  the  kindness  of  the  friends 
who  are  dear  to  them,  and  who  possess,  in  all  their 
perfection,  the  faculties  of  which  the  young  shoe- 
maker was  deprived.  Yet,  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
griefs,  he  found  companionship  and  consolation  in 


A  \\-rni  .1 

reading  and  study ;  for  of  these  be  was  very  fond, 
and  all  of  his  leisure  moments  were  devoted  to  self- 
improvement.  For  this  boy,  whom  no  one  could 
expect  to  become  any  thing  more  than  a  tolerable 
mechanic,  just  able,  perhaps,  to  earn  his  daily  bread, 
living  and  dying  in  the  obscurity  in  which  his  lot 
appeared  to  be  cast,  had  already  determined  to  make 
of  himself  all  that  he  could,  and  had  dreamed  of  one 
day  writing  books  which  should  cause  his  name  to 
be  known  and  honored. 

His  extraordinary  intelligence  was  not  destined  to 
remain  long  unnoticed.  It  attracted  the  attention  of 
some  gentlemen,  who  procured  his  release  from  his 
apprenticeship  and  raised  a  fund  to  enable  him  to 
continue  his  studies.  As  his  friends  supposed  that 
there  were  few  occupations  which  he  could  pursue, 
it  was  proposed  that  he  should  learn  the  art  of  print- 
ing, which  he  soon  thoroughly  mastered.  Having 
acquired  it,  he  was  engaged  as  a  printer  for  a  mis- 
sionary station  on  the  island  of  Malta,  for  which 
place  he  accordingly  sailed. 

His  work  there,  though  faithfully  performed,  was 
unsatisfactory  to  his  employers,  who  quarreled  with 
him  because  his  spare  hours  were  passed  in  study, 


A    STOUT  WITH  A   MEANING.  183 

and  very  soon  dismissed  him.  Upon  his  return  to 
England,  he  was  engaged  as  tutor  to  the  sons  of  a 
missionary  about  leaving  for  Persia.  With  them 
the  young  man  traveled  for  the  space  of  three  years, 
eagerly  seizing  the  opportunities  which  were  fre- 
quently offered  of  becoming  familiar  with  the  places 
mentioned  in  the  Scriptures. 

Keturning  once  more  to  his  native  land,  Mr.  Kitto 
devoted  himself  entirely  to  literature,  and  in  twentj^ 
years  (from  1833  to  1853)  composed  twenty-one 
books,  some  of  which  were  of  great  size,  and  treated 
of  subjects  requiring  profound  study.  At  length,  at 
the  age  of  fifty,  his  overtasked  brain  gave  way,  and 
then,  when  his  work  was  done,  God  called  him  to 
himself  The  trials  of  his  youth  had  their  compen- 
sation in  the  universal  esteem  in  which  he  came  to 
be  held  in  after-life ;  and  though  to  him  they  were 
grievous,  for  us  their  recital  is  full  of  instruction, 
since  they  show  us  what  obstacles  may  be  overcome 
when  one  has  once  determined  to  improve  all  the 
talents  which  have  been  committed  to  him.  If  a 
poor  deaf-mute  could  do  so  much  and  so  well,  what 
should  be  expected  of  those  whose  faculties  are  un- 
impaired, and  whose  advantages  are  better  by  far 


184  A    STOHY    WITH    A    .VAM.V/ 

than  his?  All  may  not  have  the  abilities  which  he 
possessed — all  may  not  become  authors,  or  make 
their  names  famous  among  men ;  but  all  may  do 
something  to  honor  the  God  who  made  them,  and 
whom  it  is  their  duty  to  serve.  Our  talents  may  be 
many  or  few,  our  gifts  of  one  sort  or  another ;  but  we 
all  have  at  least  one  talent,  one  gift  which  may  be 
made  of  use  to  our  fellow-men.  It  may  be  no  more 
than  the  power  to  speak  kindly,  to  "  weep  with 
those  that  weep,  and  rejoice  with  those  that  do  re- 
joice," or  to  give  a  cup  of  cold  water  in  the  Master's 
name ;  but  whatever  can  be  done,  let  us  do,  and  our 
reward  shall  be  sure.  But  we  need  to  remember 
that  we  are  responsible  not  only  for  what  we  can  do, 
but  also  for  what  we  may  become  able  to  do,  and  for 
this  reason  we  should  carefully  cultivate  all  the 
powers  by  means  of  which  it  is  possible  for  us  to 
benefit  others. 

If  learning  to  play  upon  an  instrument,  or  to  sing 
songs  of  gladness,  will  make  the  home  circle  plea- 
santer  and  happier,  and  we  can  learn,  then  we  should 
practice  music — we  have  a  talent  to  be  improved. 
If  by  diligent  study  we  can  become  better  fitted  to 
impart  instruction  to  those  more  ignorant  than  our- 


A   STORT  WITH  A   MEANING.  185 

selves,  we  should  make  study  our  business — it  is  a 
part  of  our  duty.  It  may  be  one  gift  or  it  may  be 
another  that  we  are  called  to  employ — all  have  not 
the  same ;  but  of  one  thing  we  may  be  certain — our 
work  upon  earth  will  not  be  rightly  done  unless  we 
make  of  ourselves,  our  time,  our  opportunities,  all 
that  we  can. 


XXV. 


c\  Conflict  mul  a  ;rictov\i. 


JND  when  ye  stand  praying,  forgive,  if  ye 
have  aught  against  any."  What  was 
it  that  so  suddenly  brought  these  words 
to  the  memory  of  Marion  Graves?  The  "still  si- 
lence "  of  the  evening  hour  had  come,  the  duties,  the 
pleasures,  the  little  trials  of  the  day  were  all  over ; 
and  now,  as  the  young  girl  knelt  to  ask  of  the  great 
Father  forgiveness  for  her  offenses,  and  to  commit 
herself  to  his  watchful  keeping,  there  came  a 
consciousness  that  she  was  in  a  state  unfit  for  prayer, 
a  knowledge,  together  with  the  remembrance  of  the 
command,  that  she  was  not  ready  to  obey  it,  and 
rising,  she  left  the  prayer  unsaid. 

For  how  could  she  approach  the  mercy-seat  while 


A    CONFLICT  AND   A    VICTORY.  1ST 

she  knew  that  sin  ruled  her  spirit,  that  she  was  un- 
willing to  forgive  the  trespasses  of  one  who  had  tres- 
passed against  her  ?  Would  the  Lord  hear  her  while 
she  regarded  iniquity  in  her  heart  ?  Yet  it  was  very 
difficult  to  obey  the  precept ;  for  Marion,  although 
she  hoped  that  her  name  was  among  those  which  are 
written  in  the  Book  of  Life,  was  not  "already  per- 
fect;" it  had  always  been  a  hard  matter  for  her  to 
forget  an  injury  ;  and  to-day  she  had  been  attacked 
on  a  point  upon  which  she  was  naturally  sensitive. 

"Oh!  so  here  comes  the  new  saint.  I  suppose 
she's  going  to  be  a  pattern  of  excellence.  There's 
no  need  of  our  having  high  tempers  after  this,  girls  ; 
for  we  won't  have  any  one  to  teach  us  how  to  show 
them." 

This  was  the  salutation  which  had  greeted  her  ear 
as  she  entered  the  school-room  that  morning,  and  it 
was  not  one  which  it  was  easy  to  bear  in  silence. 
To  be  ridiculed  upon  any  subject  was,  to  Marion, 
particularly  annoying ;  but  to  be  laughed  at  for  her 
newly  made  resolutions ;  to  listen  to  this  allusion  to 
a  temper  which,  as  her  schoolmates  well  knew,  was 
always  easily  excited ;  and  to  receive  this  treatment 
from  one  who  had  hitherto  been  her  friend,  was  too 


.1    f»  \FLICT  AXI>    A     I 


much  for  her  fortitude.  "  Alice  Carlisle  !"  she  began, 
and  then,  suddenly  recollecting  herself,  she  turned, 
with  a  flushed  cheek  and  glistening  eye,  and  moved 
quickly  to  her  desk.  Anger  was  her  besetting  sin, 
and  it  overcame  now,  overcame  her  when  most  she 
had  need  to  resist  it.  Why  could  she  not  be  com- 
posed and  try  to  feel  kindly  toward  Alice?  But 
it  seemed  impossible,  and  all  day  long  there  was  a 
struggle  in  her  heart  between  the  good  and  the  evil  ; 
she  knew  that  it  was  right  to  "  forgive  and  forget," 
but  for  her  it  was  unnatural,  and  so  for  a  time  the 
evil  gained  the  mastery.  Her  lessons  were,  as  usual, 
well  recited,  her  home  duties  faithfully  performed  ; 
but  overshadowing  them  all  with  a  dark  cloud  of 
gloom,  making  pleasures  troubles  and  light  tasks 
irksome,  was  the  knowledge  that  somewhere  in  the 
heart  which  she  had  lately  hoped  had  been  renewed 
and  purified  was  a  feeling  not  only  of  dislike,  but 
almost  of  resentment  toward  her  thoughtless  school- 
mate. Night  came  at  length,  bringing  to  others  re- 
pose of  body  and  of  mind,  but  not  to  Marion.  Could 
she  rest  with  that  weight  of  unrepented  guilt  upon 
her?  Could  she  sleep  without  sending  heavenward 
the  penitential  prayer  ?  But  to  repent  and  to  pray 


A    CONFLICT  AND   A    VICTORY.  189 

•were  both  impossible  while  she  still  heard  and  dis- 
obeyed this  one  command,  "  Forgive."  This  Marion 
knew,  but  yet  it  was  hard  to  forget  the  scornful  look, 
the  taunting  tone,  the  unkind  words — to  love  with 
the  old  affection  the  friend  who  had  so  suddenly  be- 
come a  foe.  It  was,  indeed,  a  dark  hour  for  Marion 
Graves ;  for  there  can  be  none  more  sad  than  one  in 
which  the  soul,  at  war  with  its  better  inclinations, 
rebels  against  the  commandments  of  its  God.  But 
presently  there  came  to  her  the  remembrance  of  a 
darker  hour  than  that — of  a  conflict  far  more  terrible, 
when  the  sun  was  vailed  in  blackness,  the  graves 
were  opened,  and  the  rocks  were  rent — when  earth 
and  sky  united  to  proclaim  the  sorrowful  but  won- 
drous tale  of  Olivet  and  Calvary.  And  as  Marion 
called  to  mind  the  anguish  that  had  once  been  borne 
for  her — remembered,  too,  the  prayer  of  compassion 
that  had  arisen  even  from  the  cross,  "Father,  for- 
give them ;  for  they  know  not  what  they  do  " — she 
could  resist  no  longer.  "Her  sins,  which  were 
many,"  had  been  pardoned,  and  surely  she  could 
overlook  one  provocation,  one  trifling  injury.  She 
was  ready  now  to  forgive  not  only  "until  seven 
times,  but  until  seventy  times  seven." 


190         A  Cf  \rf.f  r  .i.v/>  .1    r/'To/;r. 


•  following  morning  Marion  was  among  the 
who  gathered  around  the  school-room  lire,  chat- 
pleasantly  as  they  awaited  the  ringing  of  the 
bell  which  should  summon  them  to  quiet  and  study. 
Alice  did  not  arrive  till  later,  and  when  she  came  it 
was  with  a  clouded  brow  and  troubled  countenance. 
"  Girls,"  said  she,  approaching  the  knot  by  the  stove, 
'•  have  any  of  you  solved  this  problem  ?  I  worked 
at  it  all  last  evening  ;  but  my  ideas  about  it  now  are 
like  'confusion  worse  confounded.'"  "I  can  ex- 
plain it  to  you,  Alice,"  replied  Marion  kindly. 
"  Oh  !  thank  you,  Miss  Perfection,  I  most  respect- 
fully decline  your  aid  ;  I  was  addressing  myself  to 
the  others." 

Marion  turned  away  grieved,  but  this  time  not 
angry.  She  had  determined  to  "overcome  evil  with 
good,"  and  would  not  despair  at  the  first  disappoint- 
ment ;  she  would  watch  for  some  other  opportunity 
to  prove  the  sincerity  of  her  forgiveness.  She  had 
not  to  watch  in  vain.  Not  once,  or  twice,  but  often 
there  came  times  when  she  could  and  did  show  that 
her  love  for  her  friend  was  undiminished.  And  at 
It-njrth  she  reaped  the  reward  of  her  efforts.  Gradu- 
ally the  iron  bars  of  prejudice  were  broken  down, 
and  instead  of  them  were  renewed  the  old  cords  of 


A    CONFLICT  AND   A    VICTORY.  191 

affection  which  had  once  bound  the  two  hearts  to* 
gether. 

Several  years  passed  rapidly  away,  and  at  the  sea- 
son when  the  earth  in  its  new  raiment  of  green  was 
telling  to  all  that  the  winter  was  over  and  gone,  and 
the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  had  come,  two  girls 
might  be  seen  walking  together  in  a  retired  street  in 

the  town  of .     Unlike  as  they  were  in  personal 

appearance,  each  face  was  radiant  with  the  same  joy, 
each  beamed  with  the  light  of  the  same  hope.  Of 
that  hope,  of  that  joy,  Marion  and  Alice  were  con- 
versing. "Were  not  these  words,  spoken  by  the 
former  scoffer  who  had  learned  to  love  the  things 
which  she  once  despised,  a  sufficient  recompense 
to  her  friend  for  the  struggle  and  the  victory  of  a 
few  short  years  before?  "Marion,  do  you  know 
what  first  made  me  believe  that  there  was  reality  in 
religion  ?  It  was  the  fact  that  it  enabled  you,  whose 
disposition  was  naturally  resentful,  to  forgive  so  en- 
tirely all  my  unkindness  toward  you.  You  first 
showed  me  the  beauty  of  a  life  conformed  to  the 
precepts  of  the  Gospel,  and  you  taught  me  to  see 
and  to  endeavor  myself  to  prove  the  truth  of  the 
saying  of  the  wise  man,  '  Better  is  he  that  ruleth  his 
spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.'  " 


LIRRAPY 


